


the means to an end

by astroblemish



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-20 09:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astroblemish/pseuds/astroblemish
Summary: Being in love is hard enough as is --pretending to be in love with the ex-football star who kind of ruined Jongdae's life is an entirely different challenge altogether.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> dont take this fic seriously because it reads like a bad ooc rushed rom-com movie adapted to text and i am NOT sorry (i am very sorry).  
> thank u to the mods for being so patient and understanding as i died several times over and for running this fest!!!  
> enjoy!!

 

_never give up on your dreams._

_keep sleeping._

 

 

 

Jongdae looks at the paper on the desk in front of him, and thinks one, simple, thing.

“No,” he tells Junmyeon, firmly, and then slides the clipping back along the table. “I’m not interested.”

“Jongdae,” Junmyeon starts, softly, coercing, and pushes the file back across the desk. “You know you need this.”

It’s certainly not the first time Junmyeon has ever stuck his nose into something that doesn’t concern him --he’s only an editor looking out for his so-called baby hatchlings, but _still_. Jongdae doesn’t like having his hand held, even if Junmyeon insists upon it; company rules and regulations, et cetera et cetera.

“ _No_ ,” Jongdae reaffirms, and huffs, turning up his nose as pushes the all-too familiar newspaper article back for the umpteenth time. “Anyone else but not-- not someone like that.”

Junmyeon frowns disapprovingly, and Jongdae hates the shape of it, turning his gaze away. Even if he is lacking in any coverage, he refuses to fill the missing pieces with… well, _him_. Lu Han. Beijing born-and-raised but Manchester home-grown, Asia’s international superstar fighting on the home fields of Man U. First game of the season two years ago in August, and the poster-child of the east goes down in a tackle from Chelsea F.C’s left midfielder, fracturing his tibia and fibula in two spots each and ending an otherwise promising career.

Like all things broken and misused, Lu Han gets filed away into the world’s box of broken, forgotten toys, and the question of _where are they now?_ is asked only on late night TV shows, being replayed early in the morning for brainless fodder. Jongdae fiddles with the clipping, and picks it up reluctantly, examining the photo of Lu Han taken two years ago; hoodie over his head, sunglasses, and a pair of crutches, one underneath each arm, right leg in a thick, white cast. The heading reads, _FOOTBALL STAR’S CAREER GOES SUPERNOVA - LU HAN TO NEVER PLAY AGAIN?_ And Jongdae tastes bile in the back of his throat.

“Just think about it, at least?” Junmyeon prompts, and Jongdae knows that _Junmyeon knows_ that he’s gotten underneath his skin, wormed his way in with hooks and ideas and planted thoughts that leave a desperate Jongdae _questioning_. He’s at the end of his rope when it comes to getting a good story, but Jongdae is wondering if he’s really _this_ desperate.

“I’ll--” Jongdae falls short, swallows. “--I’ll think about it.”

“Info’s on the back,” Junmyeon says, as he stands off the desk, slipping out of Jongdae’s cubicle. “Play nice.”

“ _Play nice_?” Jongdae repeats, in disbelief. “But--”

Junmyeon only gives Jongdae a knowing smile as he walks away. Jongdae wonders just what exactly he may-or-may-not have just ended up getting himself into.

 

 

 

 

 

Which is how Jongdae ends up at Heathrow surrounded by teenage girls --a phrase, that, admittedly, sounds pretty bad in his head-- attempting to squish through mass hoards. It’s been over six months since Lu Han was last spotted in London, having spent majority of his long rehab period at home in Beijing, but his homecoming is only sweetened due to another circumstance.

Lu Han has thousands of dollars in medical bills to pay, and millions more lost to a premature career ending. His return in London merely heralds the beginning of the end for his lawsuit against Kris Wu, the very same player who tackled him down.

Checking the screens behind him, Jongdae notes that Lu Han’s plane is already beginning to unbag on the carousel, meaning he should be out any minute now. Carefully, between the jostling, Jongdae takes his EOS 5D from his bag, and attaches the wide-angle, short-ranged lens. A quick test shot for the focusing, and Jongdae clenches his jaw, steeling himself. Every tabloid in the city is yearning for the first glimpse of their long lost and rusted treasure; Jongdae won’t fail Junmyeon on this one.

Jongdae’s cue arrives in the form of an increase in screaming, as all the manic football fanboys and girls alike, attached to Lu Han’s pretty face, push forward, eager to get closer, and Jongdae wedges between them, trying to snap a clear shot.

Lu Han’s wearing a hoodie over his head, sunglasses across his face, and the security guards around him are struggling to keep the fans at bay. Athletes aren’t exactly the type to draw in a crowd like this, but football fans are more than a little bit crazy, Jongdae knows, and Lu Han has a winning-personality and dazzling face that leads them to obsess, or so the theory goes.

Either way, Jongdae doesn’t have time to lament on it while juggling trying not to get crushed and attempting to snap a good shot or two. Lu Han looks angry as the crowd zeroes on him, which is good, Jongdae thinks, because anger sells. Anything that tarnishes a repeatedly-cleaned reputation is a yes for The Sun, and Lu Han’s steadily growing irritation is spoon-feeding it directly into Jongdae’s mouth.

“Back up,” Lu Han hisses, in perfect, British-accented English, but the rabid horde persists, only seeming to push in tighter. Jongdae snaps the perfect shot of Lu Han’s irritation, almost looking at him through the lens, and then he’s being ushered to the VIP standing area while he waits for his car and luggage. The crowd disperses almost immediately, already bored.

“You’re paparazzi, aren’t you?” a voice behind Jongdae asks as he’s quickly flicking through the digital previews, and he snaps his head up, blinking at the girl. God, she must only be around eighteen, but she’s got a slick 750D that makes him wonder how the hell she paid for it.

“No,” Jongdae says, and the girl frowns at him. “I’m a newspaper photographer.”

Her scowl is immediate. “Big diff,” she scoffs, sneering at him. “You’re an animal.”

He looks at the camera around her neck, and then back up at her face, flatly. “How are you different to me, exactly?”

“Because I don’t sell my photos like scum,” she says defensively, even though she has other ways of making money out of being a fansite master, Jongdae knows. Why the hell does Lu Han have fansites anyway? “And I’m not a creep. I follow Lu Han because I love him.”

“Right,” Jongdae says, disbelievingly, rolling his eyes only slightly. “Well, I’m glad you’re getting into photography.”

She scowls at him all over again, but Jongdae ignores her, promptly walking away. He does have to be the adult in this situation, after all.

Only problem is, Jongdae isn’t really watching what he’s doing, too busy flicking through previews to make sure he’s got a shot worth printing. One early turn left, and the wrong exit, and it quickly becomes apparent to Jongdae that he’s gotten lost.

Which, at an airport, with its one-million signs, is kind of an impressive feat. He doesn’t know where he’s ended up, but the door behind him had been strictly one-way. Shit.

There’s an empty stretch of road, and the car park behind that, nervous, Jongdae picks a direction at random and hopes, at the very least, to end up back at an entrance if nothing else. It’s almost eerie how empty the area is, and Jongdae nearly jumps when he hears somebody shout in a language he doesn’t know.

Except it isn’t a language he doesn’t _recognise_ , because the sounds of Mandarin are all-too distinct.

And so is the face attached to the sound.

Quickly ducking back around the corner, Jongdae nearly squeaks at how close Lu Han is, and just how close he himself is to the VIP pick up area, sectioned off by poles and the secluded area around them. There are no fansite masters out here, no paparazzi or security guards, just Lu Han angrily yelling into the phone, waiting for his limo, and Jongdae.

Jongdae _and_ his camera.

The thing about being a photographerfor a tabloid, is that it’s not exactly Jongdae’s ideal job. It comes with a hazy amount of lines and grey-areas, and Jongdae kind of hates how often he’s left looking at them, wondering if they’re worth crossing.

But an opportunity like this only happens through sheer chance, and Jongdae's more than a little desperate to do his job.

After all, anger sells.

Raising his camera to his eye, Jongdae adjusts the focus until it’s got that suggestive edge to it; Lu Han, bickering into his phone, the surroundings empty and blurred out slightly so that all the focus is on the athlete in question. Holding his breath, Jongdae clicks the shutter release, snapping the perfect shot.

And accidentally using flash.

Because somehow, despite years of photography under his belt, he hadn’t realised he’d set it to auto rather than manual --he must've done it accidentally, somewhere along the way.

And now Lu Han is looking straight at him.

Great.

“Hey,” he says angrily, switching back into English in a heartbeat after hanging up. “You’re not allowed out here.”

“Um,” Jongdae squeaks. “I got lost?” Technically not a lie, but Lu Han doesn’t seem to be buying it, storming over and wrenching the camera out of Jongdae’s hands, while tugging on his wrist to stop him from running away.

“Unbelievable,” Lu Han hisses, and from this close Jongdae can see every little imperfection he tries to hide, the acne scars on his left cheek, the spots he’d missed shaving beneath his chin. “It never stops with you pieces of shit, does it? Too hard to not be absolute trash for three fucking seconds.”

“It’s just a fucking photo,” Jongdae spits back, and wrenches his hand out of Lu Han’s grasp. He’s so close it’s a little terrifying, but his angry outburst, while not unfounded, is far out of line. “Now give me back my camera.”

“What, so you can just sell photos you took without permission?” Lu Han laughs drily. “Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

Scowling, Jongdae lurches forward in an attempt to get his camera back, but Lu Han easily dodges, pulling it back just out of reach with the few centimetres he has on Jongdae. It’s a childish game of tug-of-war as Lu Han laughs bitterly while Jongdae furiously swipes in an attempt to get his camera back, but it’s infuriating. Lu Han’s smug attitude, his awfulness, the fact that he might damage Jongdae’s equipment and, if he does, probably won’t even give a shit. There’s a reason why Jongdae hates working with celebrities, but athletes even more so, and this is fucking why. Their stupid push-and-pull only pauses when Jongdae stumbles, falling into Lu Han’s chest, and they hear the click of a shutter behind them.

It’s the girl, from earlier, the fansite master; she must have followed Jongdae out.

But she’s staring at them with wide eyes, which makes Jongdae suddenly aware of the position he’s in, pushed against Lu Han’s chest, one arm around his waist in an attempt to get his camera back, the other over his shoulder to keep him in place, and the proximity of their faces, nearly nose-to-nose.

“Fuck,” Jongdae says, and the girl runs away.

 

 

 

 

Jongdae is more than a little bit bitter after yesterday’s events. Lu Han had only returned his camera once his car had arrived, since whoever was inside demanded it of him. He’d tossed it into the air and Jongdae had nearly dropped it, almost shattering a five-thousand dollar piece of equipment. The camera and lens were both perfectly intact, thankfully, but there’s a few scratches from their… squabble, that he could go without, and there’s still the knowledge that there are photos of him fighting with Lu Han probably circulating the internet as he pours coffee into his mug.

Today’s brew tastes like dirt, which means Baekhyun must have gotten here first. _Ugh_. This day cannot get any worse.

“Well, well, well look who showed up." Except for Baekhyun himself; Jongdae’s day officially just got impossibly worse, because Baekhyun is like King Midas, except instead of gold, everything he touches turns to shit. Including the grin on his face, which is far too smug for nine in the morning, after a night wasted away developing and editing photos to show Junmyeon this afternoon. “Checked your twitter moments, recently?”

Alongside being King Shitdas, Baekhyun is also a bad omen. For everything. Literally everything.

“No…” Jongdae says slowly, skeptical. “Why?” Baekhyun’s grin just inches even wider; an even worse sign.

While all the tabloids are still printing, Twitter is where all the good garbage ends up first _,_ and Jongdae’s Twitter account is unused but tailored specifically to catch everything. It doesn’t take long for the app to load up and a single swipe right before Jongdae is staring at something vaguely familiar.

As in, his backside. And Lu Han’s front.

The only thing that stands out are the white-block letters covering the photo, which reads _Lu Han’s Lover - Reunited?_

“Please don’t tell me this is what I think it is,” Jongdae weakly manages, because _sure_ , the photos are a little suggestive, but…

 

_♡♡♡ @S0ME0NE  3h_

_.@luhan7 arrives back in London and immediately rendezvous with his boyfriend. cute…_

 

_A Whole Leg replying to @S0ME0NE and @luhan7 3h_

_Doesn’t look like a happy rendezvous to me…_

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jongdae wheezes. Luckily his face doesn’t seem too clear in any of the photos posted but, _still_ ; it’s recognisable enough if you know where to look. It is very much Jongdae and Lu Han captured at all the wrong angles, to look like they’re either aggressively making out or aggressively fighting, depending on which photo, far too close with the camera they’d been fighting over mysteriously cropped out in every possible shot.

“It’s pretty funny, huh?” Baekhyun says smugly, as Jongdae gives him the sharpest glare he can manage. “The scandal hunter getting caught in his own scandal--” Baekhyun’s phone quacks as obnoxiously as usual, and he quickly glances at it, pausing when he unlocks the screen.

Considering everything regarding Baekhyun is bad news, Jongdae tentatively says, “What?”

“Oh nothing,” Baekhyun quickly returns, smiling sweetly as his phone clicks shut. “Just a service provider text--”

It doesn’t take long before they’re fighting over the phone, but Jongdae ends up victorious after pinching the back of Baekhyun’s neck and causing him to crumple to the ground, snatching up the rose gold device. The notification is from a news outlet app, from Baekhyun tracking the words _LU HAN_ , and none of that bodes well as Jongdae enters the passcode right on the first guess, opening it up only to come face to face with a press release.

Oh god.

 

 _“My boyfriend and I had been reunited for the first time in a while since I came back from Beijing,_ ” _Lu Han told The Daily Online. “We’re still working a few things out, but it’s good to be back with one another again."_

 

“Oh." Jongdae falls back as his entire world collapses in on itself. “My. Fucking.” He drops the phone on his desk. “God.”

Baekhyun pats Jongdae’s shoulder as he slumps in his chair, too numb to move.

“Congrats on your first long term relationship,” he says, as Jongdae looks up at him helplessly. “With a hot, rich celebrity and everything.”

“I--” Jongdae tries, brain failing. “I--” his mouth opens and closes uselessly. “--I didn’t know he was gay.”

Baekhyun looks at Jongdae. “That’s your first reaction to this?” he asks, unimpressed. “Really?”

“I’ll admit I have trouble processing information in times of dire stress." Baekhyun rolls his eyes, leaning over the cubicle wall.

“They probably only did it so Lu Han doesn’t look like an aggressive freak." Which he actually is, Jongdae notes, but it’s not like he’s in the clear either. Baekhyun rests his chin in his palm, elbows on the top of the felt wall. “Your face isn’t even in the photo, I wouldn’t sweat it.”

“I’m so reassured,” Jongdae grits out drily, even as Baekhyun gingerly leans over to pick his phone back up. Like all things Baekhyun-related, however, Jongdae has a bad feeling about this, and doesn't think sweeping it all under the rug is what Lu Han’s statement has intended to do.

Jongdae’s phone pings. _Surprise._ Is all it reads, from an unknown number.

That definitely doesn't help.

 

 

 

 

Jongdae’s coworkers are just as curious as Jongdae is, but their journalism-brand of subtlety ensures that Jongdae isn't asked anything about it. Even if they're all looking for the inside-scoop, they know better than to think Jongdae is going to outright give it to them.

(Mostly because he doesn't have it.)

The day passes for the most part, as it usually does. Jongdae forwards the photos to Junmyeon around five with Baekhyun’s writing attached, scandalizing Lu Han’s outburst at the airport, and he grabs his laptop and pens from his desk, ready to head home for the night.

And it looks like everyone else had been counting on it.

As soon as Jongdae steps out of the office building, what feels like a hundred cameras are pointed his way, flashing brightly and demanding he tell them about Lu Han. Lu Han Lu Han Lu Han. It’s the only thing Jongdae can make in the assault of lights and noise, trying to push through the crowd and failing, breaths growing shorter before someone wraps a hand around his wrist and tugs him forward.

Jongdae stumbles, gasping, and the person in question merely holds the door to a sleek black car open, eyebrow raised.

“Who--” Jongdae tries, failing. The crowd is pushing at his back. “What--”

“It’s in there or out here,” is all the man says, and Jongdae promptly gets in the car.

The silence is suffocating as the car pulls away from the curb, the man settling into the backseat beside Jongdae. The atmosphere somehow manages to feel even more claustrophobic compared to outside, though, and Jongdae feels pinned down by the man’s cold presence.

“Hi,” he says suddenly, smiling with a childish grin as he outstretches a hand across the middle seat. “I’m Minseok.”

“Um. Jongdae,” Jongdae replies, hesitantly returning the gesture.

“I know." Minseok hums, still smiling. “Twenty-six last September, graduated from UCL with a bachelor in English, prone to drinking wine over beer, and fluent in both French, English and Korean.” His smile turns lopsided. “I got all that from your Facebook profile alone. I’d suggest locking it up sooner rather than later, but I suppose the damage is already done.”

“Um,” Jongdae manages, a little shell-shocked. “What?”

Minseok just continues smiling, feeling more threatening than congenial. “Let’s try this again: I’m Minseok, Lu Han’s… Agent, of sorts.”

“Of sorts?” Jongdae repeats lamely, but Minseok continues regardless.

“And you are Jongdae Kim, Lu Han’s boyfriend of 11 months --one year in November.” His pleasant smile turns sharp around the edges, and Jongdae is more than a little bit terrified. “Of course, we’ll be working out more of the details later, but perhaps we should open with that.”

“Um,” Jongdae tries, for the billionth time. “ _What?_ ”

“You’re a ‘photographer’,” Minseok explains, and Jongdae pointedly ignores the air quotes. “I’m sure you saw the press release.”

“I did…” Jongdae answers, tentatively, and it really isn't that hard to piece everything together, especially with the mob of reporters and paparazzi that had been waiting for him outside of the office. Still, he needs to hear it from somebody else’s mouth, just to make sure this isn't some horrible, horrible nightmare.

“Then you should know what you’re in for,” Minseok murmurs quietly, and they lapse into silence after that, London disappearing behind black-tinted windows.

What feels like minutes or hours or neither ends up with Jongdae in an upper-class neighborhood away from the city center. North London? Maybe? It’s hard for Jongdae to tell, when it’s the last of his worries. Lu Han’s house is _huge_ , far too big for one person, assuming he’s the only one in there, but it’s also a mess. The front garden is covered in weeds and dead grass, the paving stones cracked and weathered, and there are sickly looking evergreens with wilted leaves next to a row of withered rose bushes, the fountain in the centre of the garden frozen over.

The inside of the house is, thankfully, far nicer, pristine and spotless, but eerily empty. Minseok had unlocked the door with his own set of keys without a problem, and he leads Jongdae down the main hallway to the living room, gesturing to the dining table to take a seat.

“Hello honey,” a voice says, scathing, and Jongdae scowls the moment Lu Han walks into the room.

“ _You_ ,” he hisses, and all the emotions Jongdae had previously been repressing bubble forth in the form of rage so unbridled it’s almost scary. “What the _fuck_ did you do.”

“Ha,” Lu Han says drily, and even wearing nothing but a hoodie with _LIVE FAST_ printed on the front, a pair of sweatpants and two lime green socks he’s still undeniably beautiful. This fact, however, only serves to make Jongdae even angrier. How dare Lu Han be perfect even at a time like this. “Funny that you’re taking this out on me when it’s your fault.”

“ _My_ fault?” Jongdae screeches. “I’m not the one who made a fucking _press release_ \--”

“No,” Minseok interrupts swiftly. “Because that was me.”

Lu Han smirks smugly at Jongdae while Jongdae continues scowling at him in return, and Minseok just sighs into his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Sit,” he orders, and Jongdae complies, while Minseok gives Lu Han a pointed look. “Both of you.”

Lu Han huffs, but obliges, slipping into the seat opposite Jongdae. God, Jongdae hates everything about him, from his smug, cocky attitude to the angle of his smirk, the way he peers down at Jongdae like he’s _lesser_ than him, or something. Because of what? Because he used to be able to kick around a ball better than some people? God.

The silence is suffocating as Jongdae and Lu Han glare at each other across the table, and Minseok sighs all over again.

“It’s like working with children,” he mumbles, and then folds his hands in front of him, steeling himself. “Look, let’s start from the top. Obviously, no thanks to both of you getting caught in a defaming situation, I’ve had to spin the publicity a little.” Giving Lu Han one last look, Jongdae tears his eyes away, nodding along to Minseok’s words. “And I’m sorry we couldn’t exactly ask you for consent beforehand, but we were on a time limit.”

Lu Han is eerily quiet, and Jongdae can see the way he’s watching him from the corner of his eye, but he refuses to give in.

“Between his return and the lawsuit, Lu Han is kind of the centre of attention, as I’m sure you’re aware,” again, Jongdae nods, but swallows too, throat suddenly dry. “The last thing we need is him fighting with some random ‘photographer’ on the street like a child.” Jongdae isn’t sure if that’s a jab at Lu Han or himself, but the guilt settles in his stomach well enough. “Plus, since the photos came out a little… suggestive, you can see how we’ve had to resort to, well, desperate measures.” There’s a manilla folder on the table that Minseok opens, and slides across the surface, Jongdae staring at a the photos of him and Lu Han, printed on photo paper and everything. He winces. “Of course, you’re free to disagree--” Lu Han makes a noise of protest, but Minseok continues without a care. “--But you’ve still been exposed anyway, and a messy unanswered story will captivate media more than a placid relationship. I believe that this is the safest agreement we can come to for the both of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae says hesitantly, slowly. “But what is it that I’m agreeing to?”

“Pretending to be Lu Han’s boyfriend,” Minseok says, like it’s obvious, and Jongdae kind of wants to faint.

“Need some water?” Lu Han asks, scathingly, and Jongdae resists the urge to lunge across the table and choke him or something, god. Can he not be sympathetic for two fucking seconds!? Jongdae doubts either of them want this situation, so why is Lu Han sitting there with his arms folded, looking _smug_.

“You’re not helping,” Minseok snaps, and Lu Han at least has the gall to look a little guilty, shifting in his seat and breaking eye contact. “You’ll only have to keep it up until the lawsuit is officially over,” Minseok says, turning back to Jongdae. “Then Lu Han will fade from the media’s eye and as far as everyone else is concerned, you’ve amicably broken up.”

“Until the lawsuit is _over_?” Jongdae asks, jaw dropping open. “That could be-- years. _Months_.”

“We’re counting on the latter,” Minseok replies shortly, flicking a speck of dirt off the tabletop. “It’s on its last-legs.” Hence why Lu Han is back in London, after all, to finish the final dealings. “Of course, it’s not like we’re asking you to enter an _actual_ committed relationship, merely a pretend one.” Minseok smiles almost cruelly. “A fallen star and a tabloid photographer --quite the star-crossed love story, wouldn’t you say?”

Jongdae swallows, so evident in the silence it’s completely audible, as Minseok and Lu Han just keep watching him, expectant.

Jongdae can say no, he recognises, but that will only lead to an even bigger world of trouble, with people pushing him for the _real_ scoop. He hates Lu Han enough to not take the full blame, but Jongdae is mature enough to realise that this is partly his fault. Partly. It’s his problem for getting caught by Lu Han whether he wants it to be or not, and this is the least stickiest of solutions he can thus far think of. Pretending to date someone he hates can’t be that hard, right? It’s not like they’ll actually have to date, just say that they are, and only for… well, a few months, but it’s not like it will be constant. Easy enough.

Breathing in, slowly, Jongdae says, “Okay. What would pretending to date--” god he can’t even say the guy’s name. “-- _Him_ \--” Jongdae tilts his chin across the table, and Lu Han scoffs. “--include, exactly?”  

“A little publicity here and there and a couple of statements,” Minseok answers, shrugging. “People will lose interest after a week or two, I guarantee it, and you’ll be free to return to normal.”

It’s a funny thing, really, when you’re presented with options but don’t have a choice. Minseok is right when he says Jongdae avoiding answering any questions will only spur the hunt for the _truth_ behind those photos further, and if there’s anything the media is good at, it’s ignoring the actual truth --not when the photos look so suggestive. Maybe Jongdae should be a little more mournful over his actual dating life, but, well, that hasn't existed for a very long time.

“Then, I’ll do it,” Jongdae says slowly, and meets Lu Han’s eyes across the table, who is only watching him lazily in return, almost bored. “I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend.”

 

 

Minseok gives Jongdae a folder with a basic rundown of the plan, and says they’ll be in touch. Jongdae is then shoved into the same sleek car to drive him back to his flat despite never having given anyone his address. It’s a numbing, out-of-body sort of experience to reflect on the results of the afternoon, but at least his apartment building is media-free as Jongdae sighs and trudges up the stairs to the second floor. Jongdae can’t seem to believe that he’s agreed to what he’s _actually_ agreed to, but it also makes him wonder, idly, just how many relationships are media stunts.

The first thing Jongdae does in his flat is stare at the wall, then flick on the lights, and then lock down every single social media account he has onto private. Luckily, for Jongdae, it’s only Facebook that he really uses, but he still privatises his work Twitter just in case. That being done, Jongdae pulls a bottle of red from the cupboard, and pours a very, very tall glass of it.

Slightly more content and definitely more tipsy, Jongdae finally has the courage to open the folder Minseok had handed him and pour through the writings. It reads like the Wikipedia summary of a book someone’s forgotten to read but has to write an essay for the next morning, but a summary of Jongdae and Lu Han’s relationship instead.

How long they’ve been together, how they’d met, how they’d fallen in love. How Jongdae had felt while Lu Han was in China for those six months, how they’d managed to keep themselves from falling apart. Standard answers to standard questions and, more importantly, how they work together on top of their evidently opposite careers. Each word causes Jongdae’s fingers to twitch and the end of each paragraph is followed by a deeper gulp of wine to calm his nerves. Everything feels so surreal it’s hard to believe that this is Jongdae’s _life_ now. Him and Lu Han’s steady, eleven month relationship, after having met through friends in common, long before either of them had become what they are now.

 _God_.

Jongdae’s phone starts blasting the intro to _Run Away With Me_ and instinctively he jumps before groaning, reaching across the counter to pick up.

“Hello Yeollie,” Jongdae says, at the same time Chanyeol says, “Yo what the _fuck_.”

Jongdae winces. “Is that anyway to greet a good friend--”

“It is now,” Chanyeol swiftly cuts him off, and Jongdae makes a noise in the back of his throat. “But maybe we’re not as close as I thought, since, y’know, friends usually tell friends about their one-year long relationship.”

Jongdae sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s easy enough to lie to the public, and Minseok had kind of implied he shouldn’t be telling _anyone_ the truth, but. Well. It’s not like Chanyeol will believe the lies anyway.

“It’s a stunt, Yeol,” Jongdae says, fiddling with the corner of the folder spread out in front of him. “The photos were just… manipulated to look suggestive.”

“You don’t say,” Chanyeol says sarcastically, and Jongdae rolls his eyes, sighing as he props his head in his hands. “Did you actually agree to any of this?”

“Well…” Not originally, no. “... I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh my _god_ , Jongdae,” Chanyeol replies, half-wheezing and causing the static to crackle. “Surely there’s a better solution than pretending to date a _football_ star, Jesus.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jongdae mumbles, and equates Chanyeol’s pointed silence to an equally as pointed look because, okay, yeah, it really is that bad. “I mean it. It could be worse…?”

“If there’s a nobel prize for optimism you should get it because, seriously, I’m impressed.”

Jongdae sighs. “Thanks Yeol,” he grits out, and rubs the back of his neck. “Always so supportive.”

“Hey, I’ve been the number one fan of your relationship with Lu Han since day one,” Chanyeol says slyly, causing Jongdae to roll his eyes. “Don’t ostracize friends in times of great need.”

“God,” Jongdae mumbles. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Masochism,” Chanyeol easily offers, and Jongdae groans. “The very same reason you agreed to take part in media play, I’m guessing.”

“I really didn’t have a choice…” Jongdae mutters, head against the countertop. It's kind of a surreal turn of events, in hindsight. Chanyeol sighs.

“I know,” he says. “But just be careful okay? You know what the press can be like.”

Jongdae smiles crookedly. “Har-har.” He tells Chanyeol, who snickers in response.

“I gotta go, but take care Jongdae,” there’s the sound of a door shutting on the other end, and Jongdae picks himself up from his slump on the counter. “And congrats on getting over your commitment-phobia.”

The call ends with a beep as Jongdae stares at his phone, sighing.

He pours himself another glass of wine.

 

 

 

The thing about life-changing events is that they’re never really that life-changing. Jongdae wakes up to his back and name plastered on every tabloid in the country and media website in the world, but he catches the tube to work like always and almost nobody spares him a glance.

Work is a little bit different, for obvious reasons, most consisting of the fact that almost everyone there has an entire career based around exposing scandals like the one Jongdae is a part of. Still, nobody asks him questions, merely gives him a skewed glance as he passes. He wonders how many of them see through to the obvious media play it is, or how many of them truly believe he’s kept his relationship with a celebrity secret for a whole goddamn year.

“So?” Soojung asks, as Jongdae files through the assignments on his desk, given to him by Junmyeon, locations and dates for press conferences from politicians and red carpet events that Junmyeon wants him at over the next few days. “Lu Han, huh?” Jongdae glances up, blinking, and Soojung continues, “Is it real?”

“Is what real?” Jongdae asks, tilting his head. If it were Baekhyun, there’s a very good innuendo Jongdae would have made here, but, unfortunately, he and Soojung don’t have that kind of relationship. “My relationship with my boyfriend?” Oh god, it feels wrong just saying it, Jongdae flushing slightly as he’s forced to look elsewhere than Soojung’s face. “Unfortunately.”

“Hm,” Soojung hums, unimpressed, and smiles at Jongdae. “You know, if you’re really planning on making this spin work, you should probably get better at lying.”

Jongdae opens his mouth to protest, but Soojung is already walking away, as Jongdae just groans and lets his head fall against his desk. Failure on the first day. Great.

(He always _has_ been a terrible liar.)

The rest of the morning passes so peacefully it’s almost eerie; Jongdae edits and fixes up a few photos for an upcoming article, while doing a little bit of research on his next assignments, and gets so caught up in the routine of things he misses the way the entire floor goes dead silent when Lu Han walks in.

Because sure enough, there he is, standing at the entrance to Jongdae’s cubicle, with an impatient tug to his fake smile hidden behind fake charm. A celebrity walking into _The Sun’s_ main headquarters feels mocking, somehow, like a mouse walking into a lion’s den, but, knowing Lu Han, that’s probably his intention, after all.

Make a show, make a buzz, get them talking.

“Hi honey,” he says, and Jongdae nearly shudders in disgust, before remembering Soojung’s earlier words and forcing a smile on his face. “Don’t tell me you forgot about our lunch date.”

“Must have slipped my mind,” Jongdae manages, laughing through his teeth as Lu Han smiles down at him. “I guess I’m still not used to you being back.”

“Well, get used to it,” Lu Han says, sound like a joke but only thinly veiling the threat beneath. Lu Han is a part of Jongdae’s life, for the next few months or so, he _should_ be getting used to it, rather than looking like a shell-shocked teen when the ex-athlete shows up at his office wearing nothing but jeans and a hoodie beneath an overpriced coat. “Let’s go.”

Jongdae freezes, and Lu Han arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow as Jongdae scrambles to grab his wallet and phone, shoving them into his back pocket.

“Stop looking so terrified,” Lu Han hisses out as they walk down the corridor to the elevator, smiling pleasantly even while glaring at Jongdae, a hand resting on his lower back. “And do your job.”

“My job!?” Jongdae indignantly repeats as the elevator doors shut behind them. “You could at least give me a warning before you waltz in here--”

“But that wouldn’t be romantic at all now would it?” Lu Han counters, acidic, and Jongdae sneers.

“This problem belongs to _both of us_ ,” Jongdae hisses, jabbing an index finger against Lu Han’s chest. “Don’t go playing the boss of me when you know we need to be on the same page if this is going to work.”

Lu Han rolls his eyes, which only infuriates Jongdae further, and then the elevator doors ding open, causing them both to revert to fake grins at one another. As they’re walking out, Jongdae purposefully steps on the back of Lu Han’s shoe, causing his feet to slip out from his sneakers.

“Oops,” Jongdae says, without a hint of honesty. “Sorry.”

Lu Han hums in acquiescence, giving Jongdae a saccharine smile, and Jongdae returns it, all too smug.

There’s a fancy Italian restaurant not too far from where Jongdae works that Lu Han easily walks him to in an extremely uncomfortable silence. Every head that turns their direction gives Jongdae the urge to hide behind Lu Han, or something, but he knows better than to act bashful, or better yet, push the strain that’s quickly growing taut between them.

It feels kind of surreal, in all honestly, to sit opposite Lu Han and turn down wine since he’ll have to go back to work after this, even if he desperately wants to take the edge off a little, or better yet, black out and avoid this entire moment altogether.

There’s the unsubtle click of an iPhone camera beside them, and Jongdae flicks his eyes across, pulling the menu a little higher across his face.

“People are staring,” he mumbles, breaking the silence for the first time in the past fifteen minutes, and Lu Han turns the page indifferently.

“Of course they are,” Lu Han replies coolly, placing down the menu and resting his chin in his palm while he looks at Jongdae. “Our secret relationship is finally out to the public and so are we. People want to be the first witnesses.” Jongdae shifts, uncomfortable, and Lu Han sighs at him, almost fondly if Jongdae didn’t know any better, the fakeness laced through every inch of his skin. “Don’t look so nervous. You should get used to it.”

“Well, I’m not used to it,” Jongdae snaps back, resisting the urge to scowl.

“Really?” Lu Han prods, leaning across the table slightly. “I mean, considering your job revolves around being the cause of it, I thought you’d be a little more adapt at handling the taste of your own medicine.” He settles back into his seat with a smirk. “But I guess not.”

“My job is a means to an end just like yours is,” Jongdae seethes out, then smiles. “Or should I say ‘was’?”

Lu Han’s eyes narrow at that, briefly, as anger flashes across his face, and then the waitress comes up to their table, asking if they’re ready to order, and it washes away. Jongdae smiles into his menu as Lu Han places his order.

Without the placecard to hide behind though, Jongdae is left sitting across from Lu Han in a stilted, awkward silence, the latter only drinking from his water pointedly as Jongdae traces the shape of his throat as it bobs, wondering what it would be like to choke Lu Han to death and never have to suffer ever again.

They’re saved by the appearance of complimentary bread, but Lu Han’s eyes narrow at Jongdae when they reach for the last piece in unison.

“Aren’t you an athlete?” Jongdae asks, tilting his head, because okay, maybe Lu Han reduces him to the maturity of a five year old, but he can’t help it; every smug look, cocky smirk, and just general superiority makes Jongdae’s blood boil. He can’t _believe_ people think they’re in love when Jongdae can feel himself falling in hate with each minute that passes. Jesus. “Surely you should be watching your carbs-- oh, that’s right,” Jongdae smiles. “ _Ex_ -athlete.”

Lu Han’s eye twitches, and he leans away from the bread basket. “You’re right, you should have it,” he smirks. “Maybe the reason you’re acting like a bag of dicks is because you’re hangry.”

Jongdae closes his eyes briefly. “Did you really just say ‘hangry’?”

“Oh, sorry, does that offend you?” Lu Han rests his chin on his palms, elbows on the table. “I mean I’m just some dumb, ex-athlete and you’re the one with the _super_ useful English degree so really, I guess my vocabulary just isn’t as good as yours--” Jongdae kicks him under the table. “ _\--Ow_.”

“Something wrong?” Jongdae asks saccharinely, as the waitress refills their water glasses. “ _Darling_.”

“Nothing, _honeybuns_ ,” Lu Han croons in return, and Jongdae’s eye twitches.

Jongdae hums. “At least I have a degree,” he comments coolly, tracing patterns on the condensation of his glass as he tries to recall what minimal detail he can of Lu Han’s life after skim reading his Wikipedia summary. “Where did you graduate from, again?”

Lu Han laughs lightly. “Well, who needs to graduate when you’re already rich,” … touché. “Better that than making ends meet by selling other people’s secrets, hm?”

“Better than falsifying them,” Jongdae says, and sees their waitress heading over with two bowls of pasta in her hands, endlessly thankful.

Even the way Lu Han _eats_ is annoying, chewing all too loudly without remorse as he ravenously digs into his food, gulping it down greedily. With a mouthful of spaghetti, he catches Jongdae looking at him with disgust, and eloquently says, “ _Wot?”_

“Do you have table manners?” Jongdae asks, sneering. “Or did you leave those in Beijing?”

Pointedly, Lu Han bites down, causing the pasta noodles hanging from his mouth to fall down into the bowl. God.

“I’m not judging you for the way you eat like Queen Elizabeth II at high tea,” he gestures to Jongdae with a smile. “So maybe you could stop judging me?”

Jongdae clenches his fists. “As soon as we’re in private I _swear to god_ \--”

“Everything alright over here?” The waitress asks, smiling dazzlingly as she looks at them both with stars in her eyes, obviously aware of who Lu Han is. He smiles up at her charmingly.

“Everything’s great, thank you,” he says, and she flushes a little pink as Jongdae pointedly stabs a piece of gnocchi with the tip of his fork, wishing it were Lu Han’s eyeballs instead, or something, chewing on it angrily.

Lu Han turns down dessert once they’re done, which Jongdae is thankful for, because he’s eager to get back to work or to get to _anywhere_ that isn’t sitting across from one of the worst people he’s ever had the displeasure of having to share a meal with. Jongdae isn’t an angry person, or a spiteful one, either, but something in Lu Han truly drags out all his worst qualities and it makes Jongdae hate him even more, for doing this to him.

As soon as the bill is placed on the table Jongdae easily slides it across towards Lu Han, who looks at him flatly in return.

“You’re the rich one after all,” Jongdae explains matter-of-factly, shrugging indifferently. “I’m still paying off my student debt.”

Lu Han drops his platinum card on the plate --which really only proves Jongdae’s point-- and Jongdae raises his eyebrows at him, taunting. Lu Han doesn’t take the bait.

“As much fun as I had today, shnookums,” Lu Han starts, standing and pushing in his chair once everything has been paid for as Jongdae resists the urge to convulse. “I have a settlement meeting to attend to.”

There’s a brief moment of silence as Lu Han stands in front of Jongdae, staring down at him, and then he bends forward, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek and smirking as he pulls away, leaving Jongdae in a restaurant with a hand against his cheek, face burning and red.

How fucking _dare_ he.

 

 

 

"I have to say,” Baekhyun says the next morning, whistling appreciatively at the phone in his hands. “You two make quite the couple.”

This time around, it’s another Twitter moment, paired with a slightly blurry photo someone sitting near them in the restaurant must’ve taken, the subsequent one-two-three of Lu Han looking down at Jongdae, kissing his cheek, and then Jongdae sitting there shell-shocked and blushing. Of course, it had all been due to anger more than any kind of embarrassment or, god forbid, _affection_ , but it’s clear the public eye doesn’t think that, as Jongdae scan reads the tellings of a _schoolboy romance in bloom_.

“ _God_ ,” Jongdae says, gagging slightly, and Baekhyun just laughs, placing what Jongdae assumes to be a pity coffee on the corner of his desk. “You don’t understand how awful it was, Baek,” he whines. “He’s the _worst_.”

“Mhmm,” Baekhyun hums, almost disinterestedly as Jongdae’s phone pings with a text from his mum. Oh, fantastic, just what he needs. “I dunno, though. You went on a date with a hot athlete _and_ he paid for it? Sounds pretty good to me.”

“Ex-athlete,” Jongdae corrects effortlessly, while frowning at his phone.

 _How come I never found out about your boyfriend?_ Reads the text in Korean, accompanied by a string of emojis that don’t really make sense in context. Jongdae grimaces; ah, the elderly.

“Right,” Baekhyun replies flatly, squinting at Jongdae. “Surely he’s not that bad?”

“He really is,” Jongdae hurriedly responds, while he bites his cheek, considering on whether to tell his mother the truth or not. He loves her, really, he does, but she’s a total gossip, and Jongdae isn’t sure if he can trust her with something as delicate as… well, a complete and total lie. Which makes his head hurt, because lying to one’s own mother should be the eighth deadliest sin once someone’s passed the rebellious phase. “He’s rude, and pretentious, and kind of dumb?” Jongdae flicks back to Baekhyun, who’s only watching him impassively, drinking from his own take-out cup. “Like, you’d think it wouldn’t be difficult for him to treat me like a normal human being, but he has some huge vendetta against me that I--” his phone pings with his mother’s response to Jongdae’s offhanded comment about having to keep it a secret from everyone and it not being a big deal, with _I’ll have to meet him sometime_. Great, just what Jongdae wants; arrogant, awful Lu Han, in his house, with his _mother_. Yeah, that’s definitely never happening.

Jongdae pulls a face.

“I mean, to be fair, this is kind of your fault, so I don’t blame him,” Baekhyun comments, and Jongdae glares at him. “What? It is. You’re the one that took unsolicited photos _and_ got caught.”

“Shut it,” Jongdae hisses, because the last thing he needs in his life is Baekhyun, ever. Fullstop. Having to speak in English while typing with hangul is making his head hurt. Baekhyun isn’t helping, no surprise there. “I’m not the one that came up with some--” he drops his voice. “--stupid fake dating scheme as a solution, either.”

“No, but you agreed to it,” Baekhyun retorts, and this is why Jongdae hates him, he realises. The devil’s attorney. No, scratch that, just the devil, with his logic and his reasoning. Awful. Can’t Jongdae just blame somebody else for his own misgivings in peace? “And, knowing you, I doubt you were being the best lunch date either.”

Jongdae scoffs. “I would be _nice_ if he treated me like a human being rather than dirt.”

“Of course you would be,” Baekhyun consoles, without a hint of earnesty. God, why is Jongdae friends with him. “I’m just saying, Dae, maybe you should try to enjoy life on the other side of the lens while you can.”

Baekhyun walks away, leaving Jongdae frowning at his backside while still needing to prep for that press release the Prime Minister is doing in a few hours. Jongdae could take Baekhyun’s advice to heart, really, he could, but Baekhyun doesn’t really _understand_ the situation at hand in the slightest.

So, Jongdae ignores him, and focuses on work instead, ignoring the sharp edge of Lu Han’s smile that’s scraped itself and made a mark in the corner of his mind.

 

 

 

A week passes, and then a few days following that. Jongdae isn’t contacted by Lu Han nor Minseok, which he can’t tell if it’s a good sign or not. It seems like Jongdae’s face isn’t going to be recognised unless Lu Han is beside him, which is nice, because it means Jongdae can _do his job_. He may get a double take every now and then, on the tube or on site, but for the most part, nothing seems to have changed, and Jongdae hopes that maybe, all this has passed even earlier than they’d expected.

Until he gets a text from an unknown number reading, _Saturday_ , and Jongdae knows exactly who it’s from.

 _Really?_ He texts back, while still waiting for photoshop to open. _Just ‘saturday’. No time or info or anything?_ There’s no reason to be so stupidly ominous.

Grunting, Jongdae saves the number as _Lu Han_. Deeming that inappropriate, he maturely changes it to _Life Ruiner_. Ha, take that, Lu Han.

 _Noon_. Comes the brief, informative response, and Jongdae sighs leaving his phone face down on his desk and giving up altogether. So much for playing nice, he thinks bitterly; Jongdae: 1, Baekhyun: 0.

No thanks to Lu Han’s informative nature, Jongdae doesn’t really know what to wear Saturday, settling on a simple sweater and jeans beneath his coat and hoping it’s enough. Lu Han texts him at twelve on the dot to say there’s a car for him outside, and Jongdae rolls his eyes, but walks out of his flat regardless, locking the door shut behind him. Lu Han’s sitting in the backseat as Jongdae approaches the familiar Mercedes, and Jongdae huffs at him as he slides into the seat, noting the fact that Lu Han is wearing a suit.

Awkward.

“Hello _darling_ ,” Jongdae says, and Lu Han rolls his eyes, staring out the window. “How have you been?”

“Fine, until I had to see you again,” Lu Han retorts smoothly, smiling crookedly. “You?”

“It’s a mutual feeling,” Jongdae replies, hissing through his teeth behind a fake smile. Might as well get in some practice before the main event. Silence lapses over them, and Jongdae twitches. “Where are we going, exactly?”

“Somewhere I thought you’d just love to go,” Lu Han answers, as cryptic as everything else regarding him seems to be, and Jongdae nearly cracks it because _seriously_. His life may consist of mostly drinking wine and watching reruns of Attenborough documentaries and cooking shows but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a little forewarning for activities like fake dates.

Especially when the date in question involves _this_.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jongdae whispers, as he stares up at London Stadium’s crisscrossing support systems, and Lu Han smiles.

“Lucky you,” he mutters, placing his hand on Jongdae’s lower back to guide him through the stairs to the VIP box. “Getting to see a match from the big boys’ table.”

Being a Londoner that has never seen a football game is kind of a pride point, for Jongdae, but his resolve to keep his twenty-six year long streak is melting in the face of the VIP box in front of him and Lu Han’s hand at his backside, preventing him from running away.

“Play nice,” Lu Han warns, voice low in the shell of Jongdae’s ear. “Everyone’s watching.”

“That’s so reassuring of you,” Jongdae hisses in return, and Lu Han only gives his usual smirk before moving to one of the pair of seats facing the window. Jongdae stands there for a moment, feeling ridiculously out of place in jeans and sneakers, and it doesn’t help that all the stuffy old white men in suits are staring at him too.

“Can I take your coat?” An attendant asks, and Jongdae hastily hands it over before scrambling to catch up with Lu Han, the only point of familiarity in a sea of strangeness, as reluctant as he is to admit it.

“Why did you have to bring me _here_?” Jongdae whines quietly, leaning closer into Lu Han who’s… playing fucking 2048 on his phone, what the hell?

“I have to support Man U’s games as alumni,” he says, completely indifferent, and doesn’t look up from the screen in his hands. “And you have to support me.”

“Does that mean I need to cheer for Man U?” Jongdae says, as the players filter out onto the field along the sidelines in windbreakers. “Because I don’t even know which ones they are.”

Lu Han freezes, looking up from his phone.

“Wait, seriously?” He asks, and Jongdae blinks at him. “Wow, I could tell you hated football but-- do you even know who they’re playing against?”

“Um,” Jongdae says, blinking at the field in front of him. “The enemy team?”

Lu Han laughs then, so sudden but _soft_ it startles Jongdae, watching him carefully in case Lu Han… does something.

“Wow I-- _wow_ ,” wiping a tear from his eye, Lu Han tries to regulate his breathing, as Jongdae just stares at him flatly. Eventually, he stops, breathing in deeply, and says, “Man U are the guys with red on their windbreakers.”

Turning back to the field, the description doesn’t really help Jongdae at all. “They’re… both wearing red?”

Lu Han looks at Jongdae, clearly unimpressed. “West Ham are in _maroon_ , duh.” Jongdae rolls his eyes, but Lu Han mostly ignores him. “Man U’s jerseys will be white when they play.”

Jongdae stares dumbly down at the field. “But their jackets are red?”

“The colours are inverted since they’re the away team I--” Lu Han cuts off, frowning. “Do you know anything about football at all?”

“I know there’s a ball,” Jongdae answers helpfully. “And a foot or two?”

Lu Han actually laughs at that, snickering into the back of his hand, and usually, maybe, it would make Jongdae feel ashamed. But he isn’t, not about this --he really does hate football, and his lack of knowledge on the topic as a Londoner is very much a cause of pride.

“God knows how we’re in love,” Lu Han remarks, muttering, and Jongdae scoffs at him, pushing his shoulder, before watching the… kick-off, he thinks? That’s a thing, right?

The game is as interesting to Jongdae as it always has been: it isn’t. He spends the entire forty-five minutes wriggling in his seat, annoyed at himself for leaving his phone in his coat pocket and being too chicken to stand and ask for it, since the closet is on the other side of the room, and all these old white people scare him. At least there’s free champagne and hors d'oeuvres, but getting messy in the VIP box without friends around doesn’t seem too appealing, which means Jongdae is really, _really_ fucking bored.

Like, god, even Lu Han isn’t watching the game, scrolling through Instagram instead and snickering at something in Chinese someone has posted. Jongdae frowns at him, but Lu Han doesn’t even notice, still watching his phone instead of the game. Half-time --at least, Jongdae thinks that’s what it is, god he hopes this game isn’t played in quarters-- sounds, and Lu Han stands and stretches, gesturing to an attendant to refill his flute. Jongdae pointedly frowns at him, _again_.

“What?” Lu Han asks.

“You’re not even watching the game,” Jongdae points an accusatory finger. “Why are you making _me_ do it?”

“I’m not _making_ you do anything,” Lu Han says, sitting back down and rolling his eyes as Jongdae opens his mouth to say _you’re making me pretend to date you_ but decides better, snapping it shut again. “Besides, maybe it’s good for you to experience a little culture.”

“ _Culture_?” Jongdae mocks, huffing, as Lu Han just unlocks his phone again. God, how is it not out of battery yet? “What sort of culture am I experiencing, exactly? The authentic meathead lifestyle?”

Lu Han snorts. “Why do you think kicking a ball automatically makes somebody a neanderthal?”

“I don’t know,” Jongdae replies flatly, giving Lu Han a pointed once-over. “Why _would_ I possibly think that.”

“Because taking photos is _sooooooo_ hard,” Lu Han counters petulantly, and, fed up with his attitude, Jongdae slaps his shoulder. “Hey!”

“At least it requires some sort of _thinking_ instead of hur-dur,” Jongdae mocks, waving his hands about. “Look at me! My foot is on the ball and I call it football!”

“I mean, at least it takes some sort of talent,” Lu Han argues. “Instead of a nine-year old playing with daddy’s iPhone camera and thinking that makes a career.”

“If we weren’t in public right now I would _strangle_ you,” Jongdae hisses. Lu Han winks obnoxiously.

“Maybe I’m into that kind of thing,” he replies, and Jongdae wants to gag.

“I’m actually going to murder you,” Jongdae continues. “Dump your body in the Thames so they’ll never find it.” Lu Han rolls his eyes. “All the headlines will read ‘missing meathead’.”

“Right,” Lu Han replies drily, unimpressed. “You know, if you’re going to murder someone, you probably shouldn’t publicly broadcast it to them beforehand.” He snorts. “You call me dumb.”

“I said how I’m going to do it,” Jongdae says placidly. “Not _when_.” Lu Han just rolls his eyes all over again, turning back to the phone in his hands.

There’s about another thirty minutes left according to the big scoreboard, so Jongdae is having none of that, poking and prodding at Lu Han until he pays him attention. It’s funny to see Lu Han ignoring Jongdae’s incessant attempts at trying to get a rise at him, but Jongdae will not prevail.

Eventually he starts prodding at Lu Han’s cheek, tugging on it while making excessive babying noises, and Lu Han _breaks_ , hand wrapping around Jongdae’s wrist to pull it away from him.

“Do you ever take a hint?” He hisses, _loudly_ , and all the scary old white people around them look at the two of them with shock in their eyes, as if they’d just gotten naked and break danced, or something. Jongdae smirks as Lu Han drops his hand and turns a little pink, abashedly looking away.

“You’re meant to pay attention to your date,” Jongdae says smugly, folding his arms, Lu Han groans.

“It’s a _football_ game,” he complains, and Jongdae’s grin just inches a little wider at the clear exasperation in Lu Han’s tone. “You’re meant to be paying attention to the players!”

Jongdae doesn’t even know who’s winning, and doesn’t really care, either. “You’re not watching the game either,” he mumbles, huffing with his chin in his hand. Something flashes across Lu Han’s face, something mixed and indecipherable before it washes away, and he’s unlocking his phone again.

“Yeah, well,” Lu Han says calmly, right hand rubbing at the top of his knee. “I’ve seen enough football to last me a lifetime.”

Jongdae frowns at that, confused, but it’s clear Lu Han is done talking, and Jongdae’s not going to push through the sudden icy demeanour that has appeared, slumping in his seat with a drawn-out sigh. There’s only fifteen minutes left on the clock, Jongdae can _do_ this.

 _Doing this_ turns into admiring some damn sturdy thighs while forcing himself to not look at the timer, but precisely as the buzzer goes off Jongdae lets out a breath of relief, proud of himself for sitting through the worst ninety-minutes of his life.

Everyone stands out of their seats at the same time, which is a little ominous, and a few of them come over to Lu Han to welcome him back, ask about his injury, and discuss the game. Lu Han’s good at pretending he’d watched any of it considering he _hadn’t_ , but it’s not like Jongdae can tell, really, since all the names and terms mean nothing to his brain, filtering them out and watching the crowd in the stands disperse instead. The sky is grey and overcast; Jongdae wouldn’t be surprised if it started raining soon, or even snowing.

“Ready to go?” Lu Han asks, done with his schmoozing as Jongdae tears his gaze away from where he’d been staring, standing. He distantly remembers smiling and introducing himself to some people, but he’s been so disconnected from the entire thing he hardly recalls it at all.

“Please get me out of here,” he near half-begs, too desperate to leave to care about things like shame, and Lu Han laughs the whole way back to the car.

 

 

Somewhere along the way Jongdae gets used to the routine of Baekhyun shoving his overpriced, cracked-screen phone into Jongdae’s face and cooing at the pictures of him and Lu Han. They’d been swarmed by cameras of all shapes and sizes on their way out of London Stadium, and Jongdae hates the fact that he’d pushed himself into Lu Han in the face of the crowd, every photo showing him pressed tight against his side.

 _Inseparable_ , reads the photo description, and Jongdae resists the urge to gag.

“I just can’t believe you actually went to a football game,” Chanyeol remarks with a shake of his head as he places two beers and a glass of wine on the table. “Do you even know what a football looks like?”

“I do now,” Jongdae mumbles bitterly, cradling the stemmed glass against his chest. Ah, sweet relief to numb the pain.

“I can’t believe he’s actually pretending to date a celebrity for a media spin,” Baekhyun remarks, leaning forward to take his pint and shrugging. “But hey, each to their own.”

Chanyeol frowns at that, mumbling something incoherent behind his glass, and Jongdae rolls his eyes, all-too used to the duo’s bickering ever since he’d introduced them to one another.

“Still,” Chanyeol starts pointedly, giving Baekhyun a semi-dirty look which Jongdae snorts at, since Baekhyun is entirely unbothered. “You once nearly dumped a girl in uni ‘cause she asked what team you cheered for.”

“Actually, I dumped her because she said she loved me like, a day in,” Jongdae corrects matter-of-factly, while Baekhyun arches an eyebrow. “But the football fanaticism didn’t help.”

Baekhyun snorts. “I can’t believe your least freaky relationship is going to be the only one that isn’t technically real.”

“Aw, I disagree with that,” Chanyeol adds, licking the froth off his top lip. “I’m sure Lu Han has some weird habits too.”

“The only thing he’s into is ruining my life,” and choking, much to Jongdae’s dismay at the memory. Jongdae grunts, taking a long sip of wine. 

“Hey, maybe after all this is over you can sell him out,” Baekhyun offers. “Get extra cash and revenge simultaneously--” Jongdae kicks him under the table.

“As soon as this is over,” he corrects, because god, he hates Lu Han, but not enough to… sell him out, or whatever. Take a few photos of him at the airport, sure, but openly expose him like that, even if Jongdae doesn’t know any of his secrets --well. “I will be erasing any trace of it ever happening from my mind forever.”

“Good thing you have us,” Chanyeol quips up. “To always remind you of your mortification.” Jongdae groans and slams his head into the pub table.

“It really could be worse,” Baekhyun offers, patting Jongdae’s head gingerly. “At least Lu Han is like, an eleven. Gives you something to look at that’s easy on the eyes.”

Jongdae frowns, sitting up. “What does that mean?”

“Like... out of ten…?” Baekhyun answers, squinting at Jongdae, who only keeps frowning.

“He’s not an eleven,” Jongdae mutters darkly, fixing the upturned corners of his hair from where Baekhyun’s patting had dislodged them. “A six or a seven, maybe.”

Chanyeol makes an indignant noise. “That’s just offensive,” he shakes his head. “I know you hate Lu Han but that’s… wow, I mean, a _six_?”

“Since when are you the judge?” Jongdae asks, eyebrows raised.

“I’m straight, not blind,” Chanyeol huffs, puffing out a cheek, while Baekhyun and Jongdae exchange a knowing look. “He’s a ten at _minimum_.”

“I feel like you guys fail to understand how a scale works,” Jongdae points out, as Chanyeol shrugs unrepentantly. “Also, you haven’t _met him_. He’s the worst.”

“I’m telling you Dae,” Baekhyun says, shaking his head. “That’s only because you’re the worst too.”

“Hey!” Jongdae squawks, indignant.

“Baek’s right,” Chanyeol offers. “You’ve been nothing but awful about the guy. Maybe if you treated him like a person he’d treat you like one too?”

“Can we stop having this argument?” Jongdae sighs, rubbing at his temple. There’s no need to play nice with Lu Han because there’s no point in pretending that their relationship ever needs to progress beyond what it is: a means to an end. “Why don’t we ever talk about anything else?”

“Because our lives are uneventful,” Baekhyun replies easily, taking a long sip. “We’re all single losers dedicated to our jobs and this is the only mildly interesting thing that’s happened to us for the past four years.”  

A heavy silence settles over them, as they realise Baekhyun is actually kind of right.

They all take long sips of their drinks in unison.

 

 

After a long week at work, the last thing Jongdae really wants is another one of Life Ruiner’s ominous texts, but sure enough, one pops up on six pm on Friday, as Jongdae is sitting on the tube back to work. He frowns at the simple ‘ _meet you @ 8’,_ because it’s a _Friday_. How come Lu Han just assumes Jongdae doesn’t even have plans? Jongdae has plans; he’s tired and behind on _The Great British Bake Off_ episodes. He doesn’t want to see Lu Han, he just wants to _sleep_.

“Life ruiner,” Jongdae mumbles to himself, pocketing his phone without sending Lu Han any sort of acknowledgement. The lady sitting beside him gives him a skewed glance.

Again, Jongdae knows nothing about the ‘date’ or what it entails, but sincerely hopes it won’t be another football match, if nothing else. He layers his body with a tshirt and a sweater, but when somebody knocks on his door at eight o’clock on the dot Jongdae opens it only to find a dissatisfied Lu Han, pursing his lips.

“No.” he says clearly, and Jongdae tilts his head, confused. “You can’t wear that.” Lu Han reiterates, pushing through.

“Sure Lu Han,” Jongdae mumbles under his breath, shutting the door behind him. “Come on in.”

Lu Han gives a short, apathetic glance around Jongdae’s apartment --at least he had the decency to slip off his shoes-- before standing in the middle of the flat like he doesn’t know what else to do with himself, and curtly saying, “Go change.”

“Into _what_ ,” Jongdae hisses, stomping only a little bit petulantly as he heads to the wardrobe near his bed in the studio apartment. “If you actually gave me information, ever, maybe we could avoid these situations.”

Lu Han is silent, mouth a straight line. “I was under the impression you wanted to talk to me as little as possible.”

Jongdae pauses, wardrobe door swinging lightly, and he stares at Lu Han; he’s not _wrong_ , per se, but there are… exceptions. Exceptions for when important information is at hand, he supposes.

But Lu Han doesn’t need to hear any of this, so Jongdae just grunts noncommittally instead, running his eyes over Lu Han’s attire to get a sense for what he’s meant to be wearing. It’s not exactly Black Tie or a suit-wearing occasion, but glancing at Lu Han’s Louis Vuitton lace-ups, a pair of tattered Yeezys aren’t exactly going to cut it either.

Jongdae frowns at his clothes as he pulls out something a little bit better.

“We’re going out to dinner,” Lu Han says, causing Jongdae to pause. “To _Clos Maggiore_.”

“Fucking _where_?” Jongdae half-exclaims, as he nearly trips over himself when he loses balance, pulling a clean button-up from the hanger.

Lu Han smirks. “You know it?”

Only one of the most expensive and romantic restaurants in London, Jesus.

“What’s the special occasion?” Jongdae asks, desperately reaching for the nicest pair of jeans he owns, the ones he saves for when he wants to make his ass look particularly great (more so than it already does) or, in this case, not show up to a fancy restaurant with Pasta sauce stains on his thighs.

“Our anniversary,” Lu Han says, and then gasps mockingly. “I can’t believe you forgot!”

Jongdae rolls his eyes, reaching for his belt as he mentally debates stripping in front of Lu Han to show that he does not care before realising that he does, in fact, care, and moves towards the bathroom instead, keeping the door open and changing around the corner.

“I’m so sorry,” Jongdae yells back. “How could I ever forget the worst day of my life.”

“How can it be the worst day of your life when it never actually happened?” Lu Han asks, and Jongdae rolls his eyes, doing up the button of his shirts as he frowns at his reflection in the mirror. He really doesn’t look… nice enough, to go to a place like _Clos Maggiore_. Meanwhile Lu Han is sitting in his flat looking like…

Well, an eleven. Apparently.

Risking a glance through the doorway, Jongdae catches the way Lu Han is staring at his phone disinterestedly, scrolling through whatever it is he scrolls through all the fucking time. There’s a frown to his lips, a little crease to his eyebrows, but even then his skin is still so smooth, his face so perfectly structured--

Jongdae gulps. Okay, so maybe like, at _least_ an eight.

“Is this good enough?” Jongdae asks, and, deeming it a little too approval-seeking, tacks on, “Your highness.” Just for good measure.

Lu Han looks at him, head to toe, and then stands, stepping closer and closer and giving Jongdae the urge to back away but not succumbing to it, as his hands rest beneath Jongdae’s chin to straighten his collar.

“Better,” Lu Han adds, smirking down at him, and at the sudden proximity Jongdae pushes him back, as Lu Han just snickers victoriously, checking the obnoxious Rolex at his wrist.

“We don’t want to be late,” he says, tilting his chin backwards and fisting his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Let’s go.”

“Yes your majesty,” Jongdae mumbles, trailing behind Lu Han and ignoring his satisfied smirk. He’s meant to be insulted by Jongdae’s sarcasm, not _complimented._ Fucking Lu Han.

The silence doesn't feel as stilted as it usually does, more like a necessity. Neither Jongdae nor Lu Han are interested in conversation, which prevents it from being awkward. For once, Lu Han is driving himself, an obnoxious bright red sports car that reeks of money. Jongdae slips into the passenger seat feeling beyond uncomfortable.

It feels weird to be in arguably one of the most romantic restaurants in London with somebody Jongdae despises with every cell in his body, but he’s a little too enraptured with the soft lighting and white blossoms lining the walls and ceiling, mirrors used to make the dining area seem bigger than it already is, to care. It’s beautiful and perfect and charming and Jongdae kind of wishes he were sharing the experience with literally anyone else. Seriously. Even being on this date with Baekhyun would be more bearable.

Their waiter runs through the specials while Jongdae eagerly reaches for the wine list, eyes widening when he sees the prices of the bottles and promptly putting it down again.

“You’re paying, right?” Jongdae asks, and Lu Han looks at him funnily before nodding slowly. Much more enthusiastically, Jongdae picks up the wine list again.

After ordering dishes and wine that Jongdae would rather not contemplate the prices of, he and Lu Han are left sitting across from each other again, in silence, with Baekhyun’s warnings of playing nice ringing in the back of Jongdae’s head. Okay, so maybe Jongdae can’t help but feel a little guilty about the £200 meal, but it just kind of seems like he… owes Lu Han, or something, for paying. Owes him something like some common human decency.

“Sooooooo,” Jongdae starts, Lu Han arching an eyebrow as he swirls the wine around in his glass idly. “How’s the lawsuit?”

Ten points for smoothness, Jongdae thinks, and winces.

“Since when have you cared?” Lu Han asks, and Jongdae shrugs stiffly, taking a long sip of his wine. “It’s fine. Lots of law, lots of suits,” Jongdae gives out a reluctant snort, and Lu Han smirks victoriously. “You’ll be proud to know I’m winning, sugar-cakes.”

“I’m always proud of you, peach-cheeks,” Jongdae croons back, leaning across the table. He’s kind of used to the way people are always watching them, whenever he’s with Lu Han, but even more than that, Jongdae is kind of used to ignoring it. “Earning millions of pounds, putting dinner on the table. My hero.”

“Right,” Lu Han says, rolling his eyes, and he looks conflicted for a moment before asking, “So how goes the paparazzo life?”

“Photographer,” Jongdae corrects effortlessly. Seriously, there’s an actual difference. “And if I have to sit through one more politician’s press release, I think I’m gonna die.”

“What a shame that would be,” Lu Han comments, as Jongdae rolls his eyes. “You. Dying.”

“Just remember that once we break up and nobody loves your crusty ass ever again,” Jongdae retorts. “This is why.”

“My ass isn’t _crusty_ ,” Lu Han mumbles, and Jongdae can’t help but laugh at how indignant he is. If it were anyone else, it would almost be cute. Almost.

“Well, we can’t all be well-endowed,” Jongdae comments, and Lu Han gives him a flat look. “What? I’m allowed to have self esteem.”

“It can’t be that great if _I’ve_ never noticed it,” Lu Han says, as if he is the God of Asses, or something. Oh wait, on second thought, that sounds absolutely right.

“Here,” Jongdae says, and stands, causing heads to turn at any excuse to look at Lu Han, who quickly sinks into his seat in embarrassment as Jongdae, tipsy from expensive wine and drunk on pissing Lu Han off, spins to the side slightly, gesturing to his ass with his hands. “Admire the artwork but no touching.”

“Please sit down,” Lu Han hisses, turning redder by the second that allows Jongdae’s triumphant attitude to win over his own embarrassment. “We’re in a _five star restaurant_.”

“And this is a five star ass,” Jongdae counters, gesturing one more time before sitting down and laughing at Lu Han, who has sunk so far into his chair he’s practically underneath the table. “Live a little.”

“Everybody is watching us,” Lu Han says. “Who knows what might show up--”

Jongdae rolls his eyes. “If they have pictures of us making out,” which they don’t, actually, just ones that _look_ like they are. “Then I think they can handle pictures of me making fun of you.”

Lu Han frowns before rising, slowly, and he huffs, crossing his arms across his chest like a petulant child having a tantrum. Jongdae just cackles again, until he catches Lu Han simply watching him, impassive.

“What?” He asks, and Lu Han mumbles, _nothing_ , before hiding his face behind his water glass as their meals come out.

Jongdae chews on his stupidly delicious overpriced duck leg while contemplating whether or not to start a conversation, but Lu Han seems complacent to finish his bayaldi in silence, meaning Jongdae’s torn between ruining that for the sake of pissing Lu Han off, or kind of agreeing with him. The quicker they eat the quicker they can leave, and the quicker Jongdae can get home and watch _The Great British Bake Off_.

Lu Han turns down dessert --much to Jongdae’s disappointment, since he’d been eyeing panna cotta all night but it’s _fine_ \-- but they don’t leave quite yet, as Lu Han places a velvet box on the table and Jongdae, panicking, says, “Um.”

“It’s not an engagement ring,” Lu Han quickly says, and Jongdae lets out the biggest sigh of relief ever because wow he’ll fake date a dude but fake marrying seems like another extreme altogether. “Jesus, Jongdae.”

“Well what else am I meant to expect!” He argues, pointing accusingly at the box in question. “A fancy ass dinner and then a jewellery box on our anniversary? I can’t help that that was my first thought!”

“You don’t think I’d at least _ask_ before pretending to get engaged?”

“Well you didn’t ask before pretending to date!” Jongdae hisses, and Lu Han flounders, leaning back in his seat.

“Okay, true,” he admits, as Jongdae puffs out a cheek, and Lu Han slides the box across the table. “But it’s our anniversary, remember? Minseok said I should give you this.”

“Romantic cues from your manager,” Jongdae mutters. “Nice.”

“All this shit is his idea, obviously,” Lu Han snorts, and that makes sense. Of course Minseok is organising the strings and when to pull them, Jongdae doesn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that sooner “Just open it, would you?”

It’s a simple, chain link bracelet, with the chains meeting in the middle over a tiny, silver infinity sign. Horribly lame and tacky but, well, that’s probably what they’re aiming for here, after all. Something that _sells_.

“Here,” Lu Han offers, gesturing to take Jongdae’s hand as he hesitantly outstretched it across the table, letting him clasp the bracelet alongside the one his mum had given him, the silvers matching almost perfectly. Jongdae acutely becomes aware of his hand in Lu Han’s, and then Lu Han smiles at him. “Happy anniversary, gumdrop.”

Jongdae narrows his eyes for the splittest of seconds before smiling, pulling his hand back and pretending to admire the bracelet while rubbing at his wrist self-consciously, trying to shave away the invisible imprints Lu Han had left behind.

“I didn’t get you anything though,” Jongdae says, frowning. “Now I’m a bad fake boyfriend.”

Lu Han laughs, albeit reluctantly, but a victory is a victory all the same. “That’s okay,” he reassures, glancing sideways surreptitiously to see if as many people as he’s hoping are watching are. “Heteronormativity means the man is the only one giving the gift anyway.”

“Wait,” Jongdae says, indignant. “Why would _you_ be the guy?”

“Because I’m taller,” Lu Han answers. “Duh.”

“That’s so stupid!” Jongdae argues, slamming his hand onto the table. “You’re not any manlier than I am????”

“Blame heteronormativity, not me,” Lu Han replies, smirking. “If you wanted to wear the pants you should’ve grown a couple of centimetres.”

Jongdae clenches his jaw to prevent himself from scowling. “Have I ever mentioned I hate you?”

Lu Han flutters his eyelashes. “You could stand to mention it more.”

Jongdae is thankful for the excuse to leave once Lu Han gets his platinum card back, groaning a little as he makes a show of helping Jongdae back into his coat, just to be the _gentleman_. However, Jongdae is too tipsy and sated to bother caring about it right now, even letting Lu Han intertwine their fingers as they leave the restaurant, stopping him just outside the front doors.

“Sorry about this,” Lu Han says in advance, and then he’s kissing Jongdae, who squeaks in response, desperate to break away but reminding himself that he _can’t_. It’s closed mouth, barely even a kiss, but Jongdae curls his fingers into Lu Han’s collar in instinct, wondering if there really is anyone out there, watching him. Lu Han’s lips are warm but a little bit chapped; it could be worse.

Lu Han breaks away, slightly flushed, and Jongdae blinks up at him helplessly, mouth tasting bitter and wanting to say something but feeling all the words getting stuck in his throat. Lu Han tugs him back to the car, hand-in-hand, but the resulting feeling of emptiness once they break away leaves Jongdae’s hand feeling cold, and he quickly shoves it into his pocket, just to make the sensation go away.

As per routine, they sit in silence, until the surroundings become unfamiliar to Jongdae and he realises he should’ve been home by now.

“Where are we going?” He asks, as Lu Han just blinks at him, unimpressed.

“Back to my house,” he says easily, and Jongdae makes an indignant squeaking noise. “What? We just had an anniversary date and you want to risk answering questions as why you went back to your own place afterwards?”

“But I had plans,” Jongdae mumbles, deflating. Lu Han shrugs indifferently.

“Watching commercial television while getting drunk alone is not ‘plans’,” Jongdae opens his mouth to argue, but doesn’t have a comeback. Damn it, how did Lu Han know. “I don’t really want you in my house as much as you want to be there, but we don’t know where paparazzi could be watching. We can’t risk it.”

Jongdae can’t imagine that any of them are so desperate for a scoop they’d wait at his building, or something, but he supposes Lu Han has a point. They have to be thorough if they want this all to go smoothly, which means Jongdae will just be behind yet another episode. It’s fine.

Lu Han’s house is as suspiciously clean as always, except this time, there’s someone waiting for him, as Lu Han flicks the light on, crouching over and cooing.

“Hi baby~” he says, as the cat meows and butts its head into his outstretched hand, rubbing against it. “Miss me?”

“Who’s this?” Jongdae asks, resisting the urge to use his cutesy voice as he crouches down alongside Lu Han and the cat startles for a moment, before tentatively sniffing at his own hand and rubbing against it.

“I haven’t named him yet,” Lu Han admits, running his hand along the orange cat’s back and along his tail. “He won’t respond to anything no matter what.”

Jongdae snorts. “Of course he won’t, he’s a cat,” he scratches behind the cat’s ears, and it purrs pleasantly. He’s _so_ cute. “Did you only buy him recently?”

Lu Han hums. “Minseokkie gave him to me, from a shelter,” the cat meows again, and Jongdae can’t help but laugh softly, filled with fondness. “Said it was because he was sick of me living here alone.”

Jongdae snorts. “I don’t blame him,” he says, standing and taking the cat into his arms, who is surprisingly complacent about the experience as it nudges its face against Jongdae’s chin. He’s never met such an affectionate cat before; Jongdae is a little bit in love.

Lu Han smiles fondly as he continues scratching behind the cat’s ears. “He likes you,” he comments, softly, cooing as the cat sneezes.

“Well, that makes one of you,” Jongdae jokes, and Lu Han gives him a funny look. “What?”

“I don’t _dislike_ you,” he mumbles, continuing to pet the cat in Jongdae’s arms. “You’re the one that hates me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Jongdae blurts, and then backtracks because… doesn’t he? “I just…”

“Don’t like me,” Lu Han finishes for him, and Jongdae wants to argue that _that’s not it_ , but he doesn’t have the words, all caught up and jumbled in his throat. There are a lot of things complicated in their relationship, Jongdae quickly realises, a thing built on necessity and lack of trust, but it’s not something that can so clearly be defined in shades of black and white. “It’s okay, you’re not the first.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Jongdae mutters eventually, because he has foot-in-the-mouth syndrome, but Lu Han only grins at him unrepentantly, stepping away from the cat and allowing Jongdae to release a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“There’s a guest bedroom upstairs, second door on the left,” Lu Han says, gesturing to the stairwell at the end of the hall. The silence settles over them awkwardly as he hesitates, clearly about to say something, when he finally asks, “Did you want a shower… or…?”

“Oh,” Jongdae says lamely, still cradling the unnamed cat in his arms. “No that’s-- I’m fine.” He doesn’t have any pyjamas, he realises, but he feels a little too awkward to ask, figuring he’d rather sleep in his underwear than anything Lu Han owns, for a number of reasons. Jongdae wouldn't have agreed to the sleepover if Lu Han had mentioned it earlier, so no wonder he sprung it as a surprise. Stiff, and more than awkward, Jongdae places the cat down, and turns to the stairwell, figuring he can just, scroll through twitter until he sleeps or something. Crap.

“I’ll just um--” he shifts again, and just hurries up the stairs, while he listens for what Lu Han is doing downstairs. Feeding the cat, he guesses, given the sounds of baby-talk happening and happy meowing. Going up to the first door on the left, Jongdae swings it open, feeling horrendously embarrassed, for no reason, and then freezes.

Because this isn’t a guest bedroom.

It’s an office, of sorts, with a desk in the far corner and a computer atop of it, the dust around the space signifying that it probably doesn’t get used as much as it should be, as Jongdae flicks the light switch on and gapes. Because even if it _is_ an office, it’s the decor that astounds him, the walls covered in trophy cases and pin boards, signed football jerseys hanging in glass frames, hooks with medals strung around them. Photographs, what feels like hundreds of them, of all sorts of things. Lu Han, Lu Han and his team, a football field, a grey cat, a football lying in the dirt, casting a shadow across the ground. Pictures of Lu Han smiling, sweating, grinning into the camera. Pictures of Lu Han collapsed onto the ground, screaming in pain, a bone sticking through the blood and mud of his shin as his leg twists at an inhumanly possible angle. The words _SUPERNOVA_ cut out of a newspaper and pinned to the centre of a cork board, with pictures of Lu Han plastered around it, sunglasses across his face with a crutch under each arm. The same pictures that had decimated every tabloid for _weeks_ following his injury. Not every article is English, some in Chinese, Korean, French, Spanish, Japanese--

“I said the second door,” Lu Han says from behind Jongdae, and he jumps, heart pounding in his ears as Lu Han just frowns at him. He doesn’t look mad, entirely, leaning against the doorway like that with his arms folded across his chest. “Trying to expose my secrets?”

“I’m not--” Jongdae starts, and falters in the face of Lu Han’s iciness. “I don’t-- That’s not what I do, Lu Han.” Lu Han frowns deeper at that, and Jongdae continues. “I don’t stalk people, okay? That day at the airport was an incident and I-- I hadn’t had any good photos in a while and my boss assigned me to you and I-- I accidentally stumbled across you when I did and I shouldn’t have taken the photo, okay? It was an impulsive decision that I shouldn’t have made and I--” Jongdae falters. “I--” he inhales. “--I’m sorry.”

Lu Han relaxes at that, and Jongdae has the instinctive urge to leave this room, this _house_ , but with Lu Han blocking the doorway, he _can’t_ , forced only to stare at him helplessly instead.

“What is this, anyway?” Jongdae asks absentmindedly, running his fingers along the edge of the desk and rubbing away the dust that springs up on his fingertips. “Bit cliche, isn’t it?” He jokes hesitantly, anything to thin the atmosphere.

“Ego, mostly,” Lu Han admits, frowning at the wall. “I needed somewhere to put all my trophies,” he explains, tapping at the glass display case. “And then I needed somewhere to put everything else too.” He gestures to the opposite wall, and it’s like whiplash, almost, the stark contrast between his success on one side of the room, paralleling against his failures.

“You--” Jongdae starts, pausing, and stares at the photos of Lu Han with a dirt-streaked face, grinning into the camera unrepentantly. He looks so different there, all dark skinned from the Chinese summer sun with black hair and an even more youthful face, wearing a jersey with pinyin printed across its surface. He must be only sixteen or seventeen, but the grin doesn’t differ in any of the other photos of him playing football, regardless of how long ago it had been. “--Really liked football, didn’t you?”

Lu Han looks uncomfortable for a moment, shuffling from foot-to-foot before sighing. “Yes.” He relents.

“But then you--” Jongdae frowns, unsure of how many boundaries he’s crossing and if he’s meant to care. Does their position as… people who dislike one another, mean he’s allowed to be completely insensitive? Or is their relationship something entirely different than that. “--You didn’t watch that game, when we…” he trails off.

“I _used_ to like it,” Lu Han reiterates, hand resting on top of his right thigh. “But…”

But it’s hard to love something that was forcibly taken away from you, Jongdae supposes, to love something you can never have. His eyes glance to the picture of Lu Han collapsed on the field again, even if he winces at the gruesome image, and he feels thrown off balance by the sensation of it. How much Lu Han had once had, how little he does now, even if he’s still rich, and hot, and famous, how much of that really matters, in the scheme of things, when he’ll probably never smile the way sixteen-year-old Lu Han had, back then.

“Does it hurt?” Jongdae asks, and he’s not talking about Lu Han’s leg, but the other wound in question. This festering, bruising love that he’s had to give up, leave abandoned in the gutter premature against his own volition, only to be forced by old coaches and fellow alumni to watch it ooze and bleed all over again when it hasn’t truly begun to heal.

“Naturally,” Lu Han says, and switches off the light, causing Jongdae to scramble out into the hallway as Lu Han shuts the door to the trophy door behind them. “But it doesn’t matter.”

Jongdae nearly says that it kind of _does_ matter, because even as he might literally try to, Lu Han can’t just sweep all of that under the rug. But, then again, maybe he’d only meant it didn’t matter to Jongdae, because it doesn’t. They aren’t friends, they aren’t even _acquaintances_ , they’re just two people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and Jongdae should probably learn when to stop crossing privacy lines, even if he is in Lu Han’s house, right now.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae blurts suddenly. “I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s fine,” Lu Han cuts in, even though Jongdae has the distinct feeling it isn’t, stepping forward and opening the next door along, which is an empty guest bedroom, save for a double bed and a mirror closet, the bed made and sheets tucked in.

“Well I guess I’ll just--” Jongdae sits on the edge of the bed, and gestures vaguely, while Lu Han frowns at him, both still wearing their clothes from dinner. “Goodnight?”

“I’ll keep the heater on overnight,” Lu Han explains, and then hovers in the doorway. “Goodnight,” he mumbles, and the door shuts behind him with a soft click, leaving Jongdae alone in an empty bedroom, staring at the place where Lu Han had once stood.

 

 

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Jongdae struggles to get to sleep, watching youtube videos until his phone runs flat. The room is comfortably warm, but the sheets are alien against his skin, and Jongdae writhes against them all night, feeling out of place.

After three hours of sleep, Jongdae feels kind of inhuman, and the feeling of putting back on last night’s clothes aren’t helping, wincing as he drags them over his body. The house is quiet, but Jongdae figures that’s a regular occurrence, tiptoeing downstairs and nearly jumping when Lu Han’s cat meows at him.

“Hi sweetie~” Jongdae coos happily, kneeling down to pat the cat. “Sleep well?”

The cat meows in response, and Jongdae giggles. They’re _talking_. Nature is amazing.

Jongdae hears grunting from the living area, and when he makes his way through, the orange cat --damn, it really needs a name-- in his arms because he couldn’t resist, watching as Lu Han leans against the wall, bending his right leg down. It doesn’t bend very far, but Lu Han is grunting in exertion, face screwed up all ugly and red, wearing neon-green socks on both feet.

“Um,” Jongdae says awkwardly, and Lu Han pushes until he’s standing, rubbing the top of his thighs. “It’s eight a.m.”

“I have to do these stretches every morning,” Lu Han counters, eyebrow raised, and Jongdae looks away, still guilty after last night, busying himself by patting the cat in his arms sheepishly. Lu Han sighs. “Did you want breakfast? Coffee?”

“Oh my god coffee _please_ ,” Jongdae near-groans, because he's usually a morning person but not on three hours of sleep, and Lu Han just laughs, leading him back to the kitchen. He’s wearing that one _LIVE FAST_ hoodie, but now Jongdae notices it has _DIE YOUNG_ printed across the back, too. It’s eerily fitting.

Lu Han has one of those fancy coffee machine with a thousand and one buttons, Jongdae watching the way he almost artistically utilises as he sits at the counter with a cat in his arms. He wants to leave immediately, but Lu Han’s cat is affectionate and his coffee smells amazing, so he kind of never wants to leave either, too.

They sit and drink their coffee in respective silence, and oh god, it tastes as amazing as it smells, Jongdae giggling when the cat in his arms worms in an attempt to sniff at the cup in his hands, eventually shooing him off his lap. The cat settles by the foot of the stool instead, meowing at him petulantly. Lu Han laughs breathily.

“I think he likes you more than me,” he notes, stirring at his coffee idly with a small spoon.

“But I thought you didn’t like me?” Jongdae counters, and Lu Han rolls his eyes.

“I think he likes you more than he likes me,” Lu Han corrects, as Jongdae laughs, satisfied at his own contradictory ass, and hums in contentment when he takes another sip of coffee.

“Man, this is so good,” Jongdae admits earnestly, blinking down at the cup.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Lu Han shrugs, almost offended. _Cute_ , Jongdae’s mind supplies, at the little childish attitude Lu Han conveys, and that’s an entirely different problem altogether that Jongdae shoves into the dark, skeleton-filled closet in his mind. “Minseok taught me.”

“Does he do everything for you?” Jongdae half-jokes. Lu Han’s silence is incredibly telling. Ouch.

“Shut up,” Lu Han groans, once Jongdae can’t help himself but snicker a _little_. “All my other friends are in Beijing.”

“Sure they are,” Jongdae teases, smirking slyly. “I just can’t believe you’re an old man that sits at home with his cats all day learning how to make coffee.”

“Not like I have anything better to do,” Lu Han mumbles defensively, and Jongdae gives him a skewed look. “What?”

“You’re a retired millionaire,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Do you seriously do nothing but sit at home all day?”

“No,” Lu Han argues. “I take you on fake dates… occasionally…” Jongdae groans. “ _What_?”

“You’re rich! And! Retired!” Jongdae reiterates, startling the cat by his feet so that he skitters a safer distance away. “You could be doing charity work or mastering old hobbies or--” Or not wasting away with a dusty trophy room in a hoodie that’s probably never been washed, watching anime on Crunchyroll and speaking to maybe two people at best. All this time Jongdae has hated Lu Han, his arrogance and his awfulness and the way that even when his career was taken from him the world still gave him what he wanted on a silver platter, but now all he feels is _pity_. Because Lu Han was given everything he wanted but the thing he wanted most, and it causes something in Jongdae’s chest to twist and constrict.

“But I don’t want to do any of those things,” Lu Han answers, cocking his head, like the answer should be obvious even while Jongdae has a moment of revelation. There’s an unspoken _I just want to play football_ that echoes in the back of Jongdae’s mind, but looking at Lu Han’s face, he’s not entirely sure if that’s accurate or not. Does Lu Han _want_ to do anything? Or is he just… lost, without maybe even realising it.

“But you--” there are so many arguments on the tip of Jongdae’s tongue, yet one look at Lu Han’s indifference and they melt away altogether. It’s not his problem if Lu Han wants to waste away. Not his problem in the slightest. Jongdae deflates. “--Nevermind.” Seeing the bottom of his coffee cup is a depressing sight, but there’s an uncomfortable knot in Jongdae’s stomach that he’d rather like to ignore, right around now. Being around Lu Han doesn’t help accomplish that. “Drive me home?”

“Of course, your majesty,” Lu Han says, grabbing his keys off the counter and rolling his eyes. It makes Jongdae smile, the familiar snark, but he can’t help but wonder why something just feels indescribably… different.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

On a Thursday morning Jongdae feels an indescribable amount of guilt when he sees the front cover on his way out of the underground, the newsvendor in question flicking through a paper lazily while Lu Han’s face stares back at Jongdae’s from the front page. There had been flairs, here and there, about their relationship, the bracelet, too, which Jongdae now wrings around his wrist in nervous thought, but all that had died out in the aftermath of the climax of their lawsuit. Pictures of a furious Kris Wu storming out of a building with his lawyer in tow, the calm words of Lu Han’s lawyer, Yixing, as he caught the press up to date with the entire case, but Jongdae didn’t have the gall to read more. Lu Han was winning, and to Jongdae, that was all that mattered.

Junmyeon at least has the decency to keep Jongdae away from it all, assigning the coverage to Sooyoung instead. Jongdae is left on politician duty and a publicity statement from the chief of police after getting caught in a sex scandal, but for the most part, life is as usual as ever, further helped by the lack of Lu Han. Caught up in the court case, it seems like he’s getting enough media coverage as is, and most people have stopped asking about Jongdae --or, since he’s nameless, _Lu Han’s Boyfriend_ \-- on media platforms, letting him fade back into obscurity. It is not, Jongdae thinks, a sensation he’ll miss; he’s never been built to be in front of a lens, only ever behind it.

It’s that exact sensation that causes an odd amount of turmoil, though, Jongdae realises one evening, waiting for Photoshop to load. The way a camera feels when it’s taking photos of him, expected or not, isn’t exactly pleasant, and the way strangers across the globe muse about the context even less so. It makes Jongdae’s fingers itch, just a little bit, because it’s that exact same thing he does for a living --albeit, without the stalking. It’s not that Jongdae has had this career absolved of guilt, or anything, but he’d always thought that pictures were _important_. After all, how much can words be trusted when pictures show the full thing; looking at the file he has opened on photoshop, selecting the cropping tool, Jongdae wonders if that’s really the case.

At least the Christmas long weekend will be coming up soon, and Jongdae will get a chance to take a break from thinking about everything career and Lu Han related both --even if his mum is hounding him about bringing his _boyfriend_ , Jongdae’s looking forward to some time away from the city, and a chance to breathe to himself.

  


 

 

After weeks of nothing, Lu Han sends a driver to Jongdae’s flat after they argue over whether drinking home alone and watching cooking shows constitutes as _plans_ , but it’s even more surprising than usual since it’s… well, not even ten a.m, and Jongdae is currently being driven somewhere on the west side.

The driver --whom, admittedly, Jongdae has yet to learn the name of, but it seems to change person each time-- parks the car in a visitor’s area for the children’s hospital. Huh.

“Finally,” Lu Han complains, as soon as Jongdae walks through the reception area, wrapping his hand around Jongdae’s wrist. “Take your time.”

“ _You_ drove me here,” Jongdae points out, but Lu Han only smiles a little bit, lopsided. He’s dressed casually for once, in a t-shirt and windbreaker, and Jongdae can’t help but frown at how familiar it seems even though he’s almost never witnessed it.

Lu Han drags them down some hallways into a kitchen, and after dumping a lot of ingredients on the counter declares, “We’re making gingerbread now.”

“Oh,” Jongdae says lamely, and blinks down at the ingredients. “For the kids?” Lu Han nods. Another publicity stunt --every celebrity has to do something charitable, Jongdae supposes.

“Because it’s December,” Lu Han answers, as if Jongdae isn’t aware, setting out the ingredients. There’s a laminated card that tells them what to do, but judging by his ease Jongdae assumes Lu Han has already been briefed on the experience. “And they’re in hospital. I figured it would cheer them up.”

That causes Jongdae to frown, but he doesn’t question it, glancing around the kitchen. There are a few actual cooks in the huge room, but they pay no notice to the two of them, leaving them both to their own devices with an amount of trust Jongdae can’t really fathom.

“And where are the cameras?” He half-jokes, washing his hands and rolling up his sleeves, confused at the way Lu Han’s eyes drop down to his hands and then back up again.

“Why would there be cameras?” Lu Han replies, eyebrows furrowed, and Jongdae just frowns.

“Because that’s kind of how a publicity stunt works?” He offers, and at Lu Han’s silence, says. “Wow, failed step one. I’m guessing Minseok didn’t organise this one then, huh?”

“This isn’t a publicity stunt,” Lu Han says eventually.

“Then why am I here?” Jongdae asks, not to say that he was going to storm out of the building instead of making gingerbread cookies for sick kids, but curiosity is still very much a thing.

“Because,” Lu Han mutters, and his elfish ears turn pink before he discards the sheepishness altogether, smirking. “I don’t want to bother anyone last minute, but I don’t mind bothering you.”

It would almost sound touching if the words weren’t those exact ones coming from Lu Han’s scarred mouth; Jongdae only rolls his eyes before elbowing Lu Han in the ribs, causing him to yelp out, but it doesn’t matter in the end, because Jongdae has won either way --he isn’t bothered by any of this, which means Lu Han loses.

Jongdae would rather die than voice that out loud, though.

They make a batch of dough according to the laminated card in silence and leave that to set before making another, leaving _that_ to set while pulling out the batch from before and kneading through it, cutting out the shapes. It’s actually a lot more work than Jongdae had accounted for, and that’s just the baking part. Once the cookies are done they have to go through with the icing --as Lu Han informs him matter-of-factly-- and Jongdae nearly cries when he sees the hundreds of cookies laid out to cool, wondering how they’re going to get through them all in time.

“Here,” Lu Han says, handing over a piping bag, and Jongdae sighs before re-rolling his sleeves and setting to work, staring at the christmas tree shaped cookie in front of him and wondering what to do with it, tentatively spreading icing across it decoratively. “Oh my god you suck.”

Jongdae snaps up, blinking at Lu Han, and looks back down at his cookie with a frown. “What?” He asks, indignant, because okay maybe the outline is a little wonky and the icing is smudged and-- yeah, okay, he sucks.

“You don’t need to go that slowly,” Lu Han explains, and grabs another cookie off the shelf to demonstrate, smoothly piping a smiley face onto the gingerbread man’s face in dots of green, with buttons down its middle. It’s picture-perfect. “See?”

“My apologies your majesty,” Jongdae retorts naturally, and Lu Han rolls his eyes again, even if he grins a little victoriously when Jongdae does the next cookie with less hesitance, which in the end makes for better icing altogether --he ignores the smile all the same, and further ignores the way his stomach flips a little. He hopes being in a hospital hasn’t made him sick.

It takes the whole day, and by the time the cookies are done setting with icing it’s well into the afternoon, Jongdae tired but at least not hungry, having been fed by the other hospital kitchen staff for free in return for the cookies. Lu Han had grinned triumphantly like a little kid scoring a goal when a cook had thanked them for their work, and it was funny, Jongdae had thought, because the smile looked oddly familiar.

“You have icing sugar on your cheek,” Lu Han points out, later, as they’re bagging the cookies into plastic wrap and tying it off with a bow to be delivered to the kids --the ones who can eat them, at the very least-- tomorrow morning. He gestures to his face, and Jongdae mirrors at him, wiping at his cheek.

“Did I get it?” Jongdae asks, as Lu Han shakes his head, sighing in frustration when Jongdae ultimately misses again.

“Here--” Lu Han offers, and leans forward slowly, swiping his thumb along the edge of Jongdae’s cheek bone until it comes off dusted in white. “There we go.”

They’re standing inexplicably close now, Lu Han’s hand still against Jongdae’s cheek with the other resting lazily on his shoulder to still him. From this close Jongdae can clearly see the scar beneath Lu Han’s bottom lip, the mole above his eyebrow, the faintest pitted traces of acne scars beside his nose--

“Boop,” Lu Han says, causing Jongdae to swallow whatever is lodged in his throat, as Lu Han drags the tip of his thumb over Jongdae’s nose, smearing the icing sugar across it. “Rudolf the White-Nosed Reindeer.”

“I can’t believe you just…” Jongdae trails off, licking his lips. “... whitewashed my nose.”

Lu Han laughs suddenly at that, still as soft as always, and his head tips back, throat curving as Jongdae hastily wipes the substance off his nose, dusting it off on his apron. There are still piles of flour from where they’d been covering the dough, preventing it from sticking, and easily Jongdae grabs a handful, and flicks it in Lu Han’s face.

His laughter cuts off abruptly at that, and this time it’s Jongdae’s turn to giggle before Lu Han retaliates with another puff of flour. It dissolves into a food fight pretty easily after that, as they flick sugar grains at each other and smear left over icing on each other’s cheeks in strips of red and green. Lu Han squeals embarrassingly on multiple occasions, and Jongdae revels in it, pushing further and leaving smears of flours across his nose. At one stage, he grabs a handful of sprinkles, and Lu Han gasps, catching Jongdae’s wrist in mid-air as they stare at each other, eye-to-eye.

“You wouldn’t,” he warns, as Jongdae grins viciously at him and powers through Lu Han’s flimsy grip, depositing the handful of sprinkles successfully throughout his hair, watching triumphantly as Lu Han’s shoulders hunch while they fall from his head, rolling down his shoulders and underneath the collar of his t-shirt.

“I totally would,” Jongdae replies, unable to keep the grin off his face, but it quickly dissolves into mild scream of terror as Lu Han scoops up a handful of leftover batter and slowly walks towards him.

“ _B_ _oys_.” Says the cook from earlier, giving them both a flat look. “I hope you’ll be cleaning this mess up.”

The kitchen had been a mess before, but now it’s on the floor too --as well as their clothes, and hair, and faces-- causing Jongdae to flush in embarrassment.

“Um,” he pipes up. “Of course.” Lu Han dejectedly scoops the batter back into the bucket, and sighs, licking the dough off his fingers. Jongdae can’t help but stare.

“What?” He asks, and Jongdae shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says, still blushing. “Let’s just clean up.”

They sort the bags of gingerbread into a basket to be handed out later, and then Jongdae takes over scrubbing duty while Lu Han alternates between handing him things to clean and drying, placing everything back where it had been. Lu Han sweeps, and then Jongdae somehow gets stuck with mopping, finishing off the job and getting every bit of flour and sugar and sprinkles off the floor. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he sighs, and Lu Han tosses a little bag of gingerbread at him.

“A reward for your hard work,” he says, smirking, and Jongdae tears it open to get to the lone cookie inside, a single christmas tree with dejected, wonky icing.

Jongdae rolls his eyes, but eats the cookie regardless because hell, it still tastes edible, even if it’s artistic trash. Lu Han laughs at him the entire way, eyes curving and face softening, voice so soft even when the rest of him is just so _loud_ , from his obnoxious caramel hair to the bright silver stud in his ear, but as Jongdae swallows, he thinks that at the end of all of this, he hasn’t won at all. Not in the slightest bit.

“Man, I missed these last year,” Lu Han comments idly, stuffing his face with one of the burnt cookies, even as it crunches in his mouth. He moans a little bit. “English cuisine is shit but these--” he points at the cookie emphatically. “--these redeem everything about the existence of black pudding.”

Jongdae snorts. “Not big with Christmas in Beijing, huh?” Lu Han shrugs.

“Not really,” he explains, wiping sprinkles from the corner of his mouth. “I guess I don’t really get it either but--” again, he gestures to the gingerbread, and Jongdae shakes his head.

“What are you doing this year?” He asks conversationally, thinking to question himself on the fact but deciding against it altogether. Whatever he and Lu Han are --friends, enemies, co workers?-- it doesn’t matter. Jongdae’s allowed to be conversational, he reasons, he’s a very chatty person. No need to look too deeply into it.

“I dunno,” Lu Han replies, pursing his lips in thought. “Probably not care like I do every year, but this time, with a cat.”

“But it’s _Christmas_ ,” Jongdae argues, and okay, so maybe he’s that one guy that gets into the full swing of things, but he can’t help it; he’s his mother’s son, after all. “I can’t believe you’re telling me I’m supposed to let people think I allow my boyfriend to sit at home in his pyjamas on _Christmas_?” Jongdae shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

Lu Han furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t think the paparazzi will be looking out for what we’re doing over the holidays,” he says, pouting.

“But they _might_ be,” Jongdae counters, and then an idea comes to him and he thinks, _here goes nothing_. “Come to Paris with me.”

Lu Han raises his eyebrows at that, predictably. “That seems a bit extreme, doesn’t it?”

“No I--” Jongdae feels his face turn red. “It’s where my mum lives.” He can feel his face heating up all over again. “Nobody should be alone on Christmas, but not my boyfriend especially.”

“ _Fake_ boyfriend,” Lu Han corrects, and Jongdae rolls his eyes because, _duh_.

“What if some creep catches you at home in your underwear watching Top Gear reruns?” Jongdae whines. “My name will be slandered for eternity.” Lu Han gives him an unimpressed look. “And what if I’m caught in Paris alone? On Christmas?” He doesn’t know why he’s pushing this so bad considering he doesn’t want Lu Han anywhere near his family but, well, his mum _had_ asked and Jongdae would be lying if he said he wasn’t momma’s boy. “What happens to _your_ rep? Plus my mum is dying to meet you and I'm not sure how much longer I can lie to her."

“Okay, okay you’ve made your point,” Lu Han says, frowning. “How long would we be there?”

Jongdae grins victoriously. “Just a night or two,” he says, eager. Lu Han sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Then I guess… it wouldn’t hurt,” he relents, and Jongdae triumphantly smiles all over again.

“Look forward to it,” Jongdae says excitedly. “You’re gonna love my mum.” He tries to make it sound as ominous as possible, but Lu Han only softens slightly, smiling.

“Okay,” he agrees. “I will.”

And Jongdae doesn’t know what to do with that at all.

  


 

 

“You _what_.”

“I invited Lu Han to Paris with me,” Jongdae answers casually, cradling the phone against his shoulder as he last-minute packs his toiletries into his carry on bag. He switches sides. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Um,” Baekhyun answers. “It’s an extremely big deal. It’s a very, very big deal.” Jongdae rolls his eyes, disappointed that Baekhyun can’t see him do it. “You hate Lu Han, remember that Jongdae? Remember you hating him?”

“Opinions change,” Jongdae mumbles, although it’s not like he’d say he particularly likes the guy either, it's just more convenient, this way, for their ruse. “Besides, we have a spin to play, remember? We can’t _not_ spend Christmas together.”

“Well, I guess, but--” Baekhyun falters, as Jongdae shuts his flat door behind him, locking it shut. “--That doesn’t mean he has to meet the in-laws.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes. _Again_. “You’re acting like mum is gonna eat him or something.” He sighs fondly. “It’s my mum, Baek. She’d adopt you if you’d let her.”

“Thankfully for both of us I’d rather die than be related to you,” Baekhyun retorts easily. “But that still doesn’t change my point.”

“Which is…?” Jongdae asks, although he has a feeling he’ll regret it, walking down the steps of his apartment building.

“I was right and you were wrong.” Baekhyun says smugly, even as Jongdae frowns at the snow, pulling up his hood.

“You were right about nothing,” Jongdae replies. “Now I have a plane to catch. Beat it, Baek.”

“Love you too~” Baekhyun croons, making obnoxious kissy noises that Jongdae cuts off by hanging up, sighing to himself as his breath fogs the air. He’s already running a little late.

Lu Han is waiting for Jongdae by the gate once he actually gets through security and stuff, handing over their respective tickets as Lu Han shuffles from foot-to-foot, nervous.

“Are you okay?” Jongdae asks, as Lu Han bounces up and down, replying,

“I’m fine.” He forces his mouth into a straight line, and Jongdae arches an eyebrow. “Seriously. Fine.”

“Right,” Jongdae says, without a hint of belief, and gives Lu Han a skewed glance as they line up to board the plane. The whole way through he’s bouncing, filled with jitters, and even once they’re sitting down Jongdae has to place a hand on Lu Han’s thigh, just to get him to _still_.

“Are you--” Jongdae starts, and then falters, licking his lips. “--Are you scared of flying?”

“No,” Lu Han answers, far too quickly, which is a little suspicious. “Why would you say that?”

“Probably because you’re as white as paper and look like you want to throw up,” Jongdae says drily, frowning. “You should’ve said something earlier, I would’ve booked train tickets instead.”

Lu Han shakes his head, pushing Jongdae’s hand off his thigh. “It’s fine, I’ve done worse.” His knuckles are white from where they grip the armrest. “It just. Takes me awhile to get used to it.”

“Do you need to take something or…?” Jongdae asks worriedly, as Lu Han quickly shakes his head, leaning his head back against the chair and squeezing his eyes shut.

“No,” he says. “I just… I’ll be fine. Eventually.”

Jongdae doesn’t quite believe him, but Lu Han doesn’t really seem in the mood for talking, as Jongdae keeps an eye on him instead of the ebook he’s got on his phone the whole way until take off. It’s at that stage that Lu Han looks the most terrified, while the plane soars into the air, and Jongdae instinctively grabs his hands, linking their fingers together. It doesn’t do much, but Lu Han does seem to be a little bit better with contact, even if Jongdae can’t feel his own hand anymore.

He texts his mum over the free wifi while they’re in the air, and Lu Han cracks an eye open, but doesn’t let go, seeming to squeeze Jongdae’s hand even tighter.

“So,” he says, swallowing even as he’s braced against the seat. “You text your mum in Korean when she lives in France but you speak fluent English.” Jongdae squeezes his fingers back. “What’s up with that?”

“My mum’s work took her to France,” Jongdae explains, used to the question. Language is the best disguise, but people get confused when you look one way but act another. It's familiar, but usually exhausting; from Lu Han, however, Jongdae knows it's far less judgemental. “So we moved from Korea when I was like, five, and I grew up there.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I wanted to study in England, though, so I went to boarding school in Windsor.”

“Is it just you two?” Lu Han asks, and Jongdae shakes his head.

“My brother,” he explains. “But he lives in Spain.” Lu Han’s eyebrows raise. “We’re a very culturally diverse family, as you can see.”

“Jeez,” Lu Han says, but he seems a little calmer now that the plane is steady in mid-air. “My parents nearly disowned me when I said I was going to study in Seoul instead of Beijing, and I was an _adult_.”

Jongdae laughs, rubbing the back of his head. “I think converting to the Euro-Korean lifestyle kinda helped my mum loosen up a bit,” he lets his hand fall back down lamely. “I argued with her about it like, a _lot_ , but I guess my dreams won out in the end. My brother fought on my side too.”

Lu Han looks at him funnily then, like he can’t imagine it. “It’s always just been me, my parents and my grandparents,” he explains, staring at the seat in front of him. “It was like fighting 4v1 all the time.”

“Or like that thing,” Jongdae offers. “In football? When they stand in front of the goalposts with their hands on their dicks?”

Lu Han laughs, rubbing at his forehead. “Like that, I guess,” he agrees, almost reluctantly. Jongdae’s lips twitch. “Eventually I gave up on pretending like their opinion mattered to me, and scored a goal regardless.”

“And let me guess,” Jongdae says. “You moved to Manchester.”

Lu Han huffs. “Once I was scouted, yeah,” but after his injury, Jongdae remembers the articles, showing up on every news outlet even though he couldn’t have cared less about some failed athlete. _Moving to London for rehab, or to get away from old demons?_ The articles had asked, but Jongdae is pretty sure he already knows the answer. “Imagine their surprise when they find out I failed huh? Just like they’d always said I woul--” Lu Han cuts himself off, shaking his head, and laughs sheepishly. “Sorry. Sore spot.”

“Don’t apologise,” Jongdae quickly interjects. “It’s okay I’m… I’m sorry your parents treated you like that, though. They had no right.”

Lu Han huffs through his nose. “They had plenty of right, they’re my parents.”

Jongdae frowns. “No, they didn’t.” He says, insistent. “They’re your parents, not your _owners_. They’re meant to support your decisions, not scold them.” Jongdae deflates. “Even if you messed up, they should help you through it, not-- not say _I told you so_ like-- like children.”

Lu Han looks taken aback by this, which makes Jongdae’s chest twinge more than it should, but more than that it makes him want to _know_. Know more about Lu Han, about his life, his past, his history, about what it was like to move back to his hometown and be scorned for it. It’s not curiosity so much as it is sympathy, open and aching, but Jongdae can’t help the complex he has around fixing broken cracks --or, at the very least, smoothing them over. It’s a bad urge, he knows, but still…

Lu Han huffs, once, breaking the silence, and Jongdae becomes acutely aware of the way blood is flowing back into his fingers now, Lu Han’s thumb running across the ridge of his knuckles absentmindedly, because Jongdae doubts he’s even aware he’s doing it.

“Thank you,” Lu Han says quietly, with finality. Jongdae just squeezes his hand briefly, once, but neither of them let go even once the whole flight.

  
  


 

Jongdae’s mum picks them up at CDG as their plane lands around eleven. Lu Han still seems a little shaken after landing but Jongdae’s just glad to get blood to his extremities again, even if his hands are a little cold. The snow in Paris isn’t as thick as it had been in London, but still.

“Jongdae!” His mum calls across the carpark, and Jongdae laughs as he walks quickly to embrace her, resting his chin on her head. “Did you get taller again?” She asks, in Korean.

“I stopped growing ten years ago, mum,” Jongdae replies, and watches as she purses her lips before turning.

“You must be Lu Han,” she says, in English with her weird, Korean-French accent. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” She gives Jongdae a pointed glance which he sheepishly grins at.

“You too,” Lu Han replies, looking stiff and awkward, and Jongdae’s mum hits his shoulder.

“I can’t believe it took you this long to introduce us,” she scolds in Korean, slapping his arm again. “Secret relationship --from your own mother!?!?” She shakes her head in disappointment, as Lu Han gives the two of them an amused glance. “He’s a lot more handsome in real life.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Jongdae whines, but she continues nonetheless.

“I’m surprised you even managed to get someone like this to fall in love with you when you’re so hopeless--”

“ _Mum._ ” Jongdae tries again, more forceful, and then says, “Lu Han speaks Korean too.”

She pauses then, mouth half-open. “I’m glad you think so highly of me,” Lu Han responds, in Seoul-accented Korean, smiling crookedly. It’s a good thing Jongdae had earnt his lack of embarrassment from his mum.

“Even more of a reason that he’s out of your league,” she says, winking at Jongdae, who only groans in response as Lu Han just laughs lightly, loading their carry-on luggage into the trunk of the car.

“So have you ever been to Paris before?” Jongdae’s mum asks, back to English apparently as Lu Han stares at the city passing by.

“Only a couple of times,” Lu Han admits. “But only to play…” He trails off.

“Ah, it’s so easy to forget you’re a footballer when you’re dating my son,” she sighs wistfully, and Lu Han laughs. “I remember when he was ten and I made him learn how to swim but he wasn’t having any of it--”

“ _Mum_ ,” Jongdae groans, high-pitched and nasally.

“--He said to me ‘I’d rather drown and die.’”

Jongdae whines all over again while Lu Han just laughs, and suddenly this is a far worse plan than Jongdae had accounted for, in hindsight.

“That sounds like Jongdae,” Lu Han muses, with a smile on his face. “What other embarrassing memories do you have to share?”

“Oh, _plenty_ ,” Jongdae's mum replies, cackling and, in Korean, adds, “I like this one.” Lu Han just laughs.

After the most horrific car ride of Jongdae’s life, recounting every awful childhood memory his mother has to offer, they finally pull up to the tiny cottage in Croissy-sur-Seine, where the magnolia are in full bloom along the front fence.

“Now, Jongdeok’s on the couch,” Jongdae’s mum explains, as they shuffle into the house and hang their coats on the hook by the door, slipping their shoes off and lining them up neatly. “Since I converted his room into a studio,” she smirks. “But I thought you wouldn’t mind staying in Jongdae’s room.”

Jongdae sighs; Lu Han just grins. “I definitely don’t mind at all,” he answers cheekily. “Thank you for having me.”

“Nonsense,” Jongdae’s mum scoffs, then, in Korean, because it’s her default for ordering Jongdae around, “Show him the house, would you?”

Jongdae rolls his eyes, which she pinches his ear for, and then rubs at the side of his face dejectedly while heading to the stairwell.

“C’mon,” Jongdae mumbles. “We’ll put your bag away.”

The stairs creak in the same pitch Jongdae had memorised throughout his childhood, smiling softly at the thought. He flicks the light switch on, and finds his room as oddly familiar as it always is. The pig blanket, the polaroids strung up beneath fairy lights, the Captain America figures lining the bookshelf, filled with graphic novels and manga. It’s a little childish considering Jongdae hasn’t lived here since he was a teenager, but it's home in its own special kind of way.

“Wow,” Lu Han remarks, as he stares at the framed photo of Jongdae and Chanyeol from high school, making silly faces into the lens as Jongdae holds the camera under them. “Your hair was so bad.”

Jongdae grunts, and Lu Han just laughs, placing the frame back on the edge of the desk.

“Chanyeol’s was worse,” Jongdae mutters, only a little defensive, crossing his arms. “Everyone’s a little messy in high school.”

“Not me,” Lu Han replies, causing Jongdae to roll his eyes. “I was a total _ulzzang_.”

“Of course you were,” Jongdae says drily, as Lu Han just laughs. Continuing to scan over the walls.

“Did you take these?” He asks, to the photos Jongdae had gotten mounted as an eighteenth present. Jongdae nods, Lu Han blinking in surprise at the clear shots of the Eiffel Tower. Tacky, maybe, but Jongdae has always found every inch of Paris beautiful, even if it is his home city. Kind of. Jongdae has a lot of places to call home.

“Yeah,” Jongdae admits, Lu Han pauses.

“They’re… really good,” he compliments, and Jongdae flushes a little, surprised at Lu Han being so... nice.

Jongdae nudges his chin to the door, embarrassed, but eager to change the topic. “C’mon. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

It’s a pretty small house for three people, as Jongdae shows Lu Han where the bathroom is and pulls out a few towels, pointing out his mum’s studio and bedroom too, warning him about the nest of birds in the gutter that sometime make obnoxiously loud noise across the night.

“Just like you,” Lu Han jokes, and Jongdae punches him.

“Now,” his mother starts, as they make their way back to the kitchen. “I have to pick up your brother at twelve, and I don’t want you near my kitchen,” she points a warning knife at Jongdae, who pouts childishly. Then again, he is cursed when it comes to all things cooking-related, and she does have a point. “Luhannie has only been here to play football, maybe you should show him something a little more interesting?”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Jongdae whines, because it’s also _cold._ Jongdae usually spends the 24th with his brother playing games on the Nintendo 64 until his mother deems dinner ready, not wanting her two failing-chefs anywhere near the kitchen. Christmas is always small, uneventful, and _warm;_ Jongdae isn’t too fond of changing that. “There will be sooooo many tourists--”

“Good,” his mother cuts in. “Because that means things will still be open.” Jongdae sighs, and she gives him a pointed glare. “Just show him around the city! Luhannie needs to experience the Parisian lifestyle while he's here.”

“Right,” Jongdae says, even though he’s pretty sure that’s the last thing Lu Han needs. He slumps, turning to Lu Han. “Do you want to…?”

“I don’t mind,” he says, and he’s so complacent to the usual, stubborn asshole Jongdae is used to, it’s almost startling. Then again, he supposes Lu Han is just being _polite_ , or something, in front of Jongdae’s mum. Hmph.

“Nonsense,” Jongdae’s mother scolds, pushing Jongdae by the shoulders. “I’m not letting you back into the house until the sun has set.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Jongdae whines, stumbling forward as Lu Han just follows the two of them, laughing lightly.

“You’re in Paris with your boyfriend!” She exclaims, clicking her tongue. “Would it kill you to be a little romantic?”

“It might,” Jongdae mumbles, as his mother throws his coat over his face and calmly passes Lu Han his.

“Too bad.” She says with finality, nudging Jongdae out as Lu Han calmly follows. She slams the door behind them.

  


 

 

It’s a quick ride on the metro before they’re into the city centre, crowding on a train as Lu Han presses into Jongdae in order to make more room.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, as Jongdae is squashed against his chest. Jongdae just swallows.

It’s been awhile since Jongdae has properly used French since he talks to his mum in Korean and uses English with everyone else, but forcing himself to read the signs and ads plastered along the train and eavesdropping on nearby conversations instead of focusing on the way Lu Han’s chest is pressed against his own helps him slip back into the sway of things.

It’s a little hard to to do something while the streets are packed and they don’t have any tickets, but Jongdae settles for the Champs-Élysees, because the lights are beautiful even when it’s not night, and the stall markets they set up over Christmas will give them something to do that isn’t like… talking to each other. Plus, it’s not like Lu Han strikes him as the type who wants to do the Eiffel Tower or Montparnasse to _really_ see the city --at least Jongdae has too much decency to joke about the fact, too.

“Stay close,” Jongdae warns, tugging Lu Han towards him by his sleeve. “Wouldn’t want to lose you in Paris.”

“Why do you say that like you want to lose me in Paris?” Lu Han counters, a little worriedly, and Jongdae just snickers, dragging him through the stalls, tugging his beanie over his ears to keep them warm against the snow.

“It’s a beautiful city,” Lu Han muses later, looking around as they trudge through the snow, maneuvering through hoards of tourists. “In a different kind of way to London.”

“Is Beijing pretty?” Jongdae asks, stopping at a stall to admire their windchimes they have strung about, catching his distorted reflection as they spin and jingle.

Lu Han shrugs. “Not like Paris is, but in its own sort of way,” he spins a chime idly. “You’ve never been?”

Jongdae shakes his head. “I’ve only visited Hong Kong but that was when I was like, three.”

Lu Han huffs. “Maybe next christmas you can meet my parents,” he comments wryly, mouth twisted.

“I pray to god we’re not still ‘together’ then,” Jongdae snorts, and tugs Lu Han to the next stall over, selling handmade truffle chocolates bagged in cellophane, painted with pretty patterns and swirls. Jongdae takes his phone out to snap a picture.

“I can’t believe you think we’ll ever break up,” Lu Han comments, pouting childishly. “Haven’t you read the tabloids, Jongdae? We’re true love.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes. “The only true love of my life is wine.”

“Your alcoholism worries me,” Lu Han says, frowning, as they walk a few stalls down.

“Shut up,” Jongdae scoffs, then turns to the vendor at the current stall. “Can I have two hot chocolates please?” He asks, in French. The woman smiles, and moves to the machine beside the till. Lu Han is staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, shrugging and fisting his hands into his pockets. “I’ve just never heard you speak French.”

“Well, I’m a little rusty,” Jongdae admits, rubbing the back of his neck, as Lu Han leans to examine the decorated biscuits being displayed in a glass cabinet.

“Sounded fine to me,” Lu Han replies, leaning back. “I don’t even know what you ordered, just heard the word _chocolat_.” His French pronunciation needs a little work.

Jongdae laughs. “Well, I’d get coffee, but hot chocolate is a kind of a christmas tradition,” the server hands over two paper cups, and Jongdae thanks her, switching back to French even though she undoubtedly understands English running a stall in Tourist Central, and paying by card. He hands one to Lu Han.

He takes a sip, blinking down at it in surprise. “It’s bitter,” he comments.

“Made with melted dark chocolate,” Jongdae says smugly. “Figured someone who likes coffee as much as you do wouldn’t want it sweet.”

“Good guess,” Lu Han admits, licking his lips and curling his fingers around the cup. “It’s really good…” he mumbles, taking another sip. Jongdae grins triumphantly.

They manage to kill plenty of time like that, eating street food and wandering from stall to stall, as Jongdae idly takes pictures on his phone of things that catch his eye. The Arc de Triomphe looms behind them, glowing as the sun sets behind thick, grey clouds, but Jongdae is honestly too caught up in the atmosphere to notice. As much as he pretends to whine about tourists, he loves the feeling of Christmas spirit, the joy in the atmosphere as tangible as the snowflakes that melt on his skin. He just can’t stop _smiling --_ even when people give them a double take once they realise who Lu Han is-- at the trinkets in every stall, at the snow on his eyelashes, at the indignant huff Lu Han gives out when Jongdae points at the scarf in F.C Chelsea colours and tells him to buy it.

“That’s the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me,” Lu Han comments casually, and Jongdae cackles delightedly. “I’m surprised you even know their colours.”

“Chanyeol was obsessed in uni,” Jongdae explains.

“The boy from the picture,” Lu Han notes, humming. “You’re still friends even after high school?”

Jongdae nods. “Why?” He asks slyly, nudging Lu Han with his elbow. “Jealous?”

“Of what?” Lu Han snorts. “Chanyeol? Not exactly.”

“No,” Jongdae explains. “Of me. For having friends.”

He cackles at the same time Lu Han rolls his eyes, elbowing Jongdae right back.

“I’m not jealous of being friends with a Chelsea fan,” Lu Han says, scoffing as Jongdae leads him back down into the metro, having reached the end of the strip. “I just can’t imagine being friends with someone for that long, I guess.”

It makes Jongdae frown, and he opens his mouth to ask _why_ , why the idea of having so many permanent structures is such a foreign concept to Lu Han, but the train pulls up to the station and he decides against it. Lu Han’s abandoned the life he’s known, what? Three times? Four? The idea of familiarity must be unfamiliar in its entirety; it’s as ironic as it is sad.

Jongdae leads them off at Châtelet-les-Halles, pushing through the throngs of people, eager to get home for Christmas or explore the rest of the city. They won’t exactly be able to get into any of the concerts without tickets; but Jongdae still loves this part the most, buying two crepes from a vendor at the edge of the Seine, as tacky as it is, as Lu Han glances behind him surreptitiously.

“Where are we?” Lu Han asks, accepting the treat with a small nod in thanks. Jongdae leads him to the Ilê de la Cité across Pont Neuf, admiring the reflection of the city's lights in the water under the bridge.

“That,” Jongdae says, pointing to the white building behind wrought iron gates. “Is Saint-Chapelle, and that way,” he points a little to the right, where it can’t be seen. “Is Notre Dame.”

“Oh,” Lu Han says lamely, as Jongdae laughs and leads him towards the cathedral, walking along the cobblestoned streets. “Everything in this city is so close together.”

Jongdae laughs. “Everytime you turn a corner you’re bound to find a historical monument,” he nibbles on the edge of his crêpe, still warm. He shrugs. “I like it.”

“So do I,” Lu Han admits, as he glances behind him, squinting before shaking it off and turning back to Jongdae. “It’s… I don't know how to describe it. There’s just… A feeling here.”

“I know what you mean,” Jongdae nods in understanding, and stops at a bench by the edge of the river, near the cathedral. The gothic building glows with lights in the darkness, but more than that it resonates with the sound of an orchestra and a hundred voices, singing so loudly it echoes beyond the walls of the cathedral. It’s not as amazing as being inside to hear the carols the run throughout Christmas, and certainly not as beautiful as the midnight mass, but it’s still special in its own kind of way.

“Salted caramel?” Lu Han asks in surprise, licking his lip as he sits beside Jongdae.

“Sorry,” Jongdae says sheepishly. “I should've asked what you wanted.”

“No, it’s fine,” Lu Han reassures, taking another bite. “I just haven't had a crêpe before. Didn’t even know it was a thing.”

“You’ve never--” Jongdae gasps. “Oh my god, what rock do you live under!?”

Lu Han laughs. “They’re just thin pancakes I don't get the big deal--”

“ _Thin pancakes!?”_ Jongdae repeats, incredulous. “So I suppose tennis balls are just smaller footballs? One and the same, right!?”

“Well, _no_ ,” Lu Han replies. “You can’t play football with a tennis ball but you can make a thin pancake and call it a crêpe--” Jongdae pinches his shoulder. “-- _Ow._ ”

“You’re awful,” Jongdae says, as Lu Han rubs his shoulder. “We’re sitting in front of a cathedral and you have the nerve to be that blasphemous.”

“Didn’t realize you were crepetholic,” Lu Han puns, so Jongdae pinches him again. “ _Ow!”_

“Crepetian, actually,” Jongdae corrects, and adds, “I hate you.”

“I know you do sugarbuns,” Lu Han says disinterestedly, and Jongdae resists the urge to pinch him again, settling back against the bench instead and closing his eyes.

He can only just make out the carol, humming along, mumbling, “ _Et de nos coeurs et de nos voix_ ~” While Lu Han watches him silently, Jongdae refusing to feel embarrassed even as hums along to higher parts.

The song ends, and Jongdae says, “You’ve got a little--” Gesturing to his top lip, as Lu Han licks his own, pink tongue darting out as Jongdae’s eyes drop, watching the movement. Lu Han has a nice mouth even if is mysteriously scarred, but, then again, he kind of has a nice everything.

After all, it’s part of the reason why Jongdae hates him; for being so perfect. With his perfect face and perfect house and perfect laugh and perfect coffee making skills--

\--With his perfect way of making Jongdae hate him.

Except Jongdae doesn't hate Lu Han, probably hasn’t, in fact, for a while, and that feels like the worst sort of revelation to make _now_ of all times, with Lu Han still licking at his lips, snowflakes melting on the tip of his reddened nose as his breath fogs in the air, glancing at Jongdae with a furrowed brow. They may do nothing but quip at each other, but it’s… kind of fun, to be so honest with someone, to not have to hold back. Jongdae’s free to be _himself_ around Lu Han and Lu Han in return, too. It’s comfortable in the weirdest of ways, and, Jongdae really enjoys the feeling. Far more than he needs to be.

“What?” Lu Han asks quizzically, tilting his head.

“Nothing,” Jongdae mutters, and leans forward, just a little bit, watching the way Lu Han swallows before his eyes flick downwards too, inching a bit more forward and--

 _Click_.

“ _There_ ,” Lu Han mumbles, eyes sharpening as his eyes sweep right zeroing in on the figure behind them, holding a camera to their face, with little to no subtlety. He chuckles and leans back. “Not going to give them the winning shot, though, I think they’ve got plenty to work with.” Jongdae shrinks, curling in on himself. _Oh_. “You must’ve noticed them before I did, though. How long have they been following us?”

Wait, Lu Han thinks…?

That all this was for some _creep_ following them?

“Since we got off at the station,” Jongdae lies, hoping it’s convincing enough as his heartbeat pounds in his ears because he had just been about to kiss Lu Han and Lu Han thinks it was for a publicity stunt. Great. Fantastic. Jongdae’s heart has the best taste in men.

“Ugh, disgusting,” Lu Han says distastefully, wrinkling his nose. “Minseokkie will be happy about those pictures, though. Should help to polish my image.” He shrugs.

“Haha...ha… yeah…” Jongdae laughs nervously, further slumping into the bench. Lu Han tilts his head.

“Everything okay?” He asks. “You should’ve mentioned you spotted them earlier.”

“Haha yes well, I wanted to test your observation skills,” Jongdae lies, standing up. “We should go back before my mum yells at us, though.”

“Right,” Lu Han agrees, also standing, and frowns down at Jongdae. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Never been better,” Jongdae mumbles, and doesn’t make eye-contact with Lu Han the whole way home.

  


 

 

By the time they make it back to Croissy-sur-Seine Jongdeok is setting the table while their mother hums along to carols playing through the radio, dishing things up.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jongdeok offers, outstretching his hand, which Lu Han returns. His English is the rustiest out of the Kims, with his soft, Korean accent, lilted with spanish syllables, but he knows enough to get by. “Congratulations on taming my little brother.”

Jongdae shoves Jongdeok, _lightly_ , but only before entering the kitchen to help his mother move the dishes to the table.

“Sit,” she chastises Lu Han, when he follows Jongdae to help. Jongdae gives him a shrug, refusing to make eye contact, as if to say _just do what she says_.

The food is like it is every year; extravagant, but an odd mix of things. There’s haemul pajeon and kimchi, pork dumplings and pickled ginger, fried tofu and soy stir-fried vegetables. Jongdae greedily reaches for the galbi-jjim as soon as he can, spooning it into his bowl over the steamed rice greedily. There’s also a baguette, however, sliced up in the centre of the table alongside foie gras, as Jongdeok takes his time pouring cava into four separate flutes.

“This is amazing,” Lu Han remarks, as the beef from the galbi-jjim undoubtedly melts on his tongue. “I don’t even think I ate Korean this good when I lived there.”

Jongdae’s mother preens; predictably. “You’re such a charmer,” she jokes, smiling the smile that both Jongdae and Jongdeok share. “Jongdae could learn a thing or two from you.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes, too busy enjoying stuffing his face after saying grace to bother with a comeback, as the baguette crunches beneath his fingertips when he reaches for a slice. He’s always loved that their Christmas adheres to no rules, a messy combination of flavours and cultures that probably don’t go together but, like ice cream sundaes and hot chips, they just kind of do.

Besides, Lu Han doesn’t seem to mind, switching between chopsticks and knives while happily chatting with Jongdeok in English about his work in Barcelona before switching to Korean to make it flow a little easier, obviously impressing Jongdeok --which causes Jongdae to preen, before frowning at his plate, because, really, what does _he_ have to be proud of.

“He’s a keeper, this one,” Jongdae’s mother says, in French, the amount of language switches going on around him causing his head to hurt; just a little bit. It’s not often that she speaks to Jongdae in anything but Korean, it’s nice to hear her speak in their second language in common again. Her eyes soften. “I can tell you love him a lot.”

Jongdae laughs nervously. “He’s okay I guess,” he replies casually in the same language, and cowers when his mother gives him a knowing look.

“Don’t let this one get away, Jongdae,” she warns, then smiles fondly. “I can tell a good choice for my son when I see one.”

“Ahhh, you’re so embarrassing,” Jongdae whines, covering his face, and it’s enough of a break to notice that Lu Han is watching him, conversation with Jongdeok long since discarded. Blushing, Jongdae turns away, focusing on his food instead.

Jongdae’s mother has a bad habit of going all out every Christmas, which is part of the reason why Jongdae looks forward to it so much, because, _food_. (Not being able to cook kind of sucks.) They don’t have a Christmas tree, and his mum complains every time they buy her anything, so for the most part is just turns into good food and good alcohol and enjoying each other’s company, even if Lu Han’s there too.

Not that Jongdae doesn’t enjoy his company.

Apparently.

Regardless, dessert is just as perfect as dinner, even if Jongdae has to unlock his second stomach just to deal with it all. Buche de Noel and stacked up macarons, a cheese platter paired with store-bought kkul-tarae and sesame balls filled with red bean paste.

“I hope they’re okay,” his mother worriedly tells Lu Han, as she puts down the plate of orb desserts. “It’s a new recipe, but I thought we should add something from your side of life too.”

“They’re great,” Lu Han earnestly says, after taking a bite of the sweet pastries, smiling. “Thank you.”

Jongdae’s mother catches him staring at the pure joy and comfort on Lu Han’s face, and when she does, she winks, eyes twinkling. He’s not sure why he feels guilty about all of this; but he undeniably does.

By the time they do finish --barely making it through without their stomachs bursting, in all honesty-- it feels like they haven’t even left a dent in half the dishes, Jongdae groaning as he leans back, Lu Han subtly adjusting his belt beneath the table. The best part of Christmas is always eating the leftovers the next day, though, even if Jongdeok berates him every year for liking soggy tofu.

Slightly more than tipsy and less than in control of his body, Jongdae finds himself leaning against Lu Han as his brother recounts some story in Korean, eyes fluttering shut as his head leans to rest of Lu Han’s shoulders. They’re so boney and uncomfortable, Jongdae doesn’t know why he bothers.

“Sorry for boring you,” Jongdeok says amusedly, as Jongdae startles awake. It’s been a long day, and it’s late and Jongdae’s a sleepy drunk; he can only last so long.

“Maybe we should just go to bed,” Lu Han says, nudging Jongdae until he snaps up again. “Sound like a good idea?”

“Definitely,” Jongdae sleepily mumbles, and his mother laughs at him. They take their time cleaning up, Jongdae drying while Lu Han scrubs and Jongdeok and their mother pack all the food away into leftover containers. Once they’re done Lu Han flicks suds across Jongdae’s nose, and he whips Lu Han with the tea towel in retaliation, cackling at the little yelp he gives out until his mum kicks them out, telling them to go to bed before they make more of a mess.

“I haven’t had a curfew since I was fifteen, though,” Jongdae quips, and she tugs on his ear until he complies.

They alternate between brushing their teeth and getting changed into their sleeping clothes, as Jongdae sits on the edge of his bed and frowns, realising.

“There’s only one bed,” he blurts, and Lu Han pauses, staring at him.

“I’m glad you can count,” he says slowly, moving to put his toiletries away. Jongdae frowns further.

“I just- I mean--” he wrings his hand around his wrist. “--We’ll have to share.”

“Is that… a problem?” Lu Han asks, eyebrow arched, and Jongdae falters.

“Well I--” he cuts off, swallowing. “...No.” He mumbles lamely, and pulls the covers up, sliding to the side of the bed pushed against the wall.

“Pretending to date a man is fine but sharing a bed is just too gay, huh?” Lu Han teases, as Jongdae rolls his eyes at him, lying his head back on the pillows. Lu Han is wearing those same, neon green socks he always is, but it’s only in his pyjama shorts that Jongdae realises they’re knee-highs, pulled all the way up on both legs.

“Do they ever get washed?” Jongdae asks, and Lu Han gives him a quizzical look, sliding into the bed.

“I have multiple pairs,” he explains, rolling his eyes as he tugs the cover over himself. “I’m not _that_ disgusting.”

Lu Han lies down, facing Jongdae, and it causes Jongdae to flush a little, how close they are. The lights are off, now, so Lu Han probably can’t tell in the dark, but Jongdae can, and that’s embarrassing enough as is.

“Why do you always wear them?” Jongdae asks, although he suspects he knows the answer. Lu Han hums, but doesn’t respond, rolling onto his back. Jongdae takes it as a cue to face the wall, and squeezes his eyes shut, placing a palm against his chest in an attempt to soothe the pounding of his heart. He’s not a schoolboy --hasn’t been one for a long time-- but Jongdae hates that his body still reacts like this.

“Good night,” Lu Han mumbles eventually, as Jongdae feels himself drifting off. “Today was… really nice. Thank you.”

Jongdae doesn’t reply.

  


 

 

They spend Christmas day inside after attending mass together, thankfully, eating leftovers as Jongdae and Jongdeok pull out the Nintendo 64 and boot up Mario Kart, with Lu Han joining in too while their mother just fondly shakes her head. Lu Han is _super_ competitive, even though he kind of sucks, and Jongdae and Jongdeok are relentless at reminding him of the fact, until Lu Han goes bright red and shoves the controller at Jongdae, mumbling,  _shut up_.

Jongdae hadn’t been able to get flights back on Boxing Day, which means they have to take a stupid late night flight, his mother driving them to the airport and giving them leftover containers of food to take back with them to England. Jongdae kisses his mother on the cheeks goodbye, and then hugs his brother, and watches as Lu Han exchanges a semi-awkward farewell and thank you, seeming out of place until Jongdae’s mother just openly embraces him, startling Lu Han.

“Mum was right, you know,” Jongdeok starts, in French. “You really should keep him.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Jongdae whines, flushing. “You two are the worst.”

Jongdeok just winks.

“Text me when you land safely, okay?” Jongdae’s mother says, and even though he’s a responsible grown ass man who can handle a plane trip he knows he will. “And come back soon. You don’t visit me enough, Jongdae.” She pinches his shoulder, which he yelps at. “You’re welcome anytime too, Luhannie.”

There’s a moment where Jongdae realises that that probably won’t happen, and he feels his heart shrivel in his chest. After all, how much longer until Lu Han’s lawsuit ends, and Jongdae no longer has any justification for spending time with him? Until they ‘break up’ and Jongdae can’t bring him home anymore, because they won’t be together, and, most likely, Lu Han won’t want to pretend otherwise. Not that Jongdae wants to keep pretending, either.

"I'll come back as soon as I can," Lu Han lies, and Jongdae's stomach sinks with guilt.

(Lu Han is as white-knuckled as always on the flight back, as Jongdae wordlessly offers his hand, pointedly looking out the window. After a moment’s hesitation, Lu Han takes it.)

 

 

 

 

“Wow dude,” Baekhyun remarks, as Jongdae slumps against the bar table. “You look like shit when you do that.”

“Thanks,” Jongdae replies slyly, eagerly accepting the glass of wine Baekhyun slides his way and downing a greedy mouthful. It’s been a long week of working the gap between Christmas and New Years, with tons of photo ops and events to cover, but what’s worse than that is Jongdae hasn’t seen Lu Han since they separated at the airport, and it _bothers_ him. He wants to see Lu Han, wants to ask how he is or if he wants to do something together or how everything’s going but he can’t, because that’s not what their relationship is. Their dynamic together is based on mutual benefit, not something like actual _friendship_ , and Jongdae hates it.

Hates everything about Lu Han, until he reminds himself that no, no that’s not really the case at all, and then it’s just a never-ending moment of thinking, _oh_.

Between that and the sheer dissatisfaction he’s felt going to work each morning, it’s kind of bothering him. It’s been a very, very long week, and it’s only now just New Year’s Eve; Jongdae is determined to get absolutely pissed drunk or die trying.

“Alcohol won’t fix your problems,” Chanyeol warns, as if Jongdae doesn’t know. “Maybe you should slow down?”

“Wait, how many is he on now?” Baekhyun asks, a little slurred, and then blinks rapidly. “Wait, how many am _I_ on?”

“Jongdae’s six drinks in, _you’re_ only two,” Chanyeol points out, and Jongdae giggles because Baekhyun is _such_ a lightweight. Chanyeol sighs. “Can’t we just have one bloody New Years where we’re not pissed?”

“Nope,” Baekhyun replies, popping the ‘p’, and slaps Chanyeol’s shoulder. “Now go get another drink you big lug, you’re too sober for my tastes.”

“I bet it takes an extra hour just to get down from his mouth to his stomach,” Jongdae jokes, giggling, and Chanyeol rolls his eyes while Baekhyun joins in on the incessant laughter, cackling like a child.

It’s only thirty minutes until Midnight now, the pub growing increasingly loud by the minute as they reach the climax. Baekhyun wobbles to his feet to go piss, as Jongdae yawns and fiddles with a coaster on the table top, bored.

“Nice bracelet,” Chanyeol points out as he slides back into the booth, holding Jongdae’s wrist as he examines. “Is it new?”

“A-Ah, yeah,” Jongdae mumbles, taking his hand back and wringing the silver chain, watching the infinity loop circle around. “Bought it in Paris.”

Chanyeol frowns at Jongdae’s obscurity, but Jongdae quickly switches the topic, talking about Chanyeol’s recent escapades visiting family in Wales while they wait for Baekhyun to get back before the fireworks go off.

“Where _is_ he?” Jongdae remarks at one stage, trying to catch any sight of Baekhyun in the bar at all. It feels so overcrowded by now, and Jongdae doesn’t know if it’s because he’s drunk and overwhelmed or because more people have filed in before midnight. Determined to find him, Jongdae pushes his way through the crowd, being jostled from left to right, and breathes only when he finally makes his way to the men’s bathroom, where Baekhyun is making out with a stranger against the sink. Of _course_.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jongdae remarks, and holds his head because everything is spinning a little bit as Baekhyun blinks and pulls away. Shit, he was in six drinks before, but how long ago was that, and how many has he had since then? When was the last time Jongdae had water, or even _food_. He feels a little nauseous, in hindsight, but standing in the bathroom just makes him realise he really fucking needs to pee. “Ugh, whatever, don’t mind me.”

Jongdae walks up to one of the urinals by the row of sinks.

“Jongdae this is…” Baekhyun slurs, frowning at the stranger.

“Kyungsoo,” the guy quietly answers, bright fucking red. Baekhyun exclaims _a-ha!_

“He got stood up on New Years Eve! Isn’t that sad?” Baekhyun explains, slurring, as Kyungsoo just turns impossibly more red, still sitting on the edge of the sink.

“I think drunkenly making out with you is sadder,” Jongdae remarks, zipping his fly back up and moving to wash his hands. “But ‘s nice to meet you I guess.” He dries them on a paper towel, and thrusts one out.

“Um. You too…?” Kyungsoo replies, hesitantly returning the grip. Jongdae jabs a thumb over his shoulder.

“‘S nearly midnight,” he slurs. “So like.” Jongdae makes a vague hand gesture, meant to represent those big booming lights in the sky. Fuck, he’s so drunk he can’t even remember the english word for them; all he’s got in his head is _feu d’artifice_ , and he doesn’t even know if Kyungsoo speaks French or not.

“Oh!” Baekhyun says, as if only remembering it’s New Year’s Eve _now_. “C’mon, Soo, you can watch ‘em with us.”

“Um,” Kyungsoo says sheepishly, still bright red, but Baekhyun curls his hand around his wrist and tugs him out, while Jongdae just laughs and fixes his hair in the mirror, blinking blearily at his reflection as the ground beneath his feet spins a little bit. Maybe drinking that much over the last three hours wasn’t a good idea, also because paying off the tab is going to _hurt_. He runs his fingers through his hair, again, and catches the sight of the second bracelet on his wrist, tacky infinity loop and all, frowning at it. What’s Lu Han doing, on New Year’s Eve? Is he home alone with his unnamed cat? Out with Minseok? _Sleeping_? Should Jongdae have invited him to this, too? Or is that too much? If he had, would it have been to keep up their ruse, or simply because he _wants_ Lu Han to be here? Wants to see him get drunk and lose control, wants to see if Baekhyun and Chanyeol would like him, wants to push him up against the sink like Baekhyun had to Kyungsoo and--

“Jongdae?” Chanyeol asks, popping his head through the door, as Jongdae splashes his face with cold water, watches his thoughts spiral down the drain. “You good?”

“Yeah, coming,” Jongdae replies, turning the tap off and following Chanyeol outside, to where the people inside the pub have moved to line up along the river and watch the Fireworks being showcased on the other side. Chanyeol uses his stupidly-tall-privilege to find Baekhyun --and, subsequently Kyungsoo-- through the crowd, and Jongdae follows him easily, frowning to himself. It’s been a long goddamn time since Jongdae has felt something for someone past pleasant fondness or lust, and he _hates_ the way Lu Han occupies his waking mind, his every thought --especially when he’s drunk and too self-destructive to hold them back. He hasn’t felt this gross since high school when he was still crushing on Chanyeol a little and _ugh_ , it makes his stomach all butterfly-filled and twisted just at the thought, and Jongdae _hates_ it. Hates it like he hates everything else Lu Han related.

Then again, maybe that’s just the alcohol.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, nudging Jongdae’s shoulder. “You good?” Jongdae nods weakly, and cranes his neck, wincing as everyone cheers right as the first firework goes off, Baekhyun loudly whooping with one arm wrapped around Kyungsoo’s neck, who seems startled beneath him, yelling out _Happy New Year_ and whatnot.

Jongdae thought drinking would put him in a better mood, but it only seems to bring every negative emotion and thought to the surface, welling in his thoughts. There are so many people near them, and everything is so loud; the whole world is spinning, and Jongdae just kind of wants it to all stop.

He really should’ve fucking eaten something before drinking.

“I--” Jongdae starts, quickly overheating as Chanyeol glances down at him worriedly. “I’m--”

And then he throws up.

  


 

 

Like all good responsible adults, Jongdae spends New Year’s Day nursing a hangover and eating his way through the copious amounts of McDonald’s he’d gotten delivered to his door. It seems like hot chips, hash browns and a McFlurry are the only things Jongdae’s stomach will bear to hold, so he indulges it, guzzling the food down greedily even as he feels his skin evilly rub its hands together at all the grease.

 _I want to die_ , Jongdae texts the _quarter life crisis_ group chat, guzzling down more water in an attempt to make his head stop pounding or his liver to stop craving death.

 _unsurprising,_ Chanyeol responds. _considering u chundered on the street_.

 _Hey how’s the wine hangover?_ Baekhyun adds in, and the perfect grammar makes Jongdae suspicious, narrowing his eyes at his phone.

 _Since when do you care about my wellbeing?_ He asks, frowning. _What the fuck happened?_

 _Nothing… why would you think that?_ Baekhyun responds, and Jongdae just squints harder. _Can I not care for my friends?_

 _No_ , Jongdae types.

 _Nope_ , comes Chanyeol’s response, at the exact same time.

 _y’all’re so rude,_ Baekhyun types, and Jongdae winces at his use of _y’all’re_ , because most things that come out of Baekhyun’s mouth should be illegal. _now if ull excuse me i have a coffee date_.

 _bathroom boy?_ Chanyeol asks, and Baekhyun sends a thumbs up sticker.

 _Imagine if he stood you up,_ Jongdae adds. _That’d be ironic._

 _u should treasure ur allies while u still can ykno,_ Baekhyun responds, and then does the waving emoji sticker before the green dot beside his profile picture disappears.

 _why does that seem like a bad omen?_ Chanyeol asks.

 _‘Cause it’s Baekhyun._ Jongdae responds, and then Chanyeol tells Jongdae to take care of himself and drink more water while excusing himself to go grab lunch with his sister. Jongdae groans to himself, again, and then opens up Netflix on his laptop after throwing his phone across the bed, content to spend the day having a recovery period… and maybe tomorrow too.

Somewhere between episodes of _Daredevil_ Jongdae falls asleep, waking up feeling significantly more human but a little more dehydrated as someone loudly pounds on his door.

Jongdae groans as he rolls out of bed, head spinning the moment he stands up, and he blindly swings open the front door of his apartment only to be met face to face with a _very_ livid Lu Han.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he cusses, and pushes past Jongdae, who only blinks, shutting the door behind him.

“Um?” Jongdae asks as Lu Han runs a hand through his hair aggressively. “Why are you here?” He could’ve called or texted or something, sheesh.

“Do you not answer your phone?” Lu Han snaps, and Jongdae frowns before carefully walking to the other side of the room, rummaging through the bed sheets until he finds his phone with… a lot of missed texts and calls. Oops.

“I was sleeping,” he mutters, still confused by Lu Han’s anger. He tends to keep his phone on silent no thanks to group chat notifications, so it’s not exactly the first time Jongdae has missed something important. R.I.P.

“Are you kidding me?” Lu Han says. “After everything that happened--” Jongdae furrows his eyebrows, obviously out of the loop, and there’s a moment of realisation that crosses over Lu Han’s face before he laughs incredulously, scathingly so. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know _what_?” Jongdae grunts, sick of dancing in circles, and Lu Han pulls out his phone from his back pocket, swiping and sliding a few times before thrusting the device in Jongdae’s face.

It takes a while for Jongdae to realise what he’s even looking at before he realises it’s _himself_ , throwing up in a gutter along the Thames as fireworks light up overhead, photos of him bending over and standing back up, of Chanyeol reaching over Jongdae and asking him if he’s okay, holding him upright by nestling Jongdae against his chest.

“O...kay?” Jongdae says, as he hands the phone back, and Lu Han’s jaw clenches. “So I drank too much, whatever--”

“You really don’t fucking get it, do you?” Lu Han scoffs, running a hand through his hair in disbelief. “Do you know how damaging this looks? My own fucking boyfriend going blackout drunk while another goddamn man comforts him?”

“I wasn’t-- I didn’t _blackout_ ,” Jongdae hisses, scowling. “And Chanyeol’s my fucking friend. For all anyone cares about maybe I just had a bad stomach bug.” He clenches his fists. “I’m not fucking Prince Harry; I’m allowed to drink alcohol, Lu Han.”

“Don’t you _get it?_ ” Lu Han seethes, and Jongdae’s sick of it, the patronising attitude, the superiority, pretending like Jongdae is some child that doesn’t understand how things work. Lu Han looks disheveled even though he’s still perfect, in his suit and pushed back hair. He must have got back from another negotiation meeting over his stupid lawsuit. “You aren’t a fucking nobody anymore Jongdae, you’re _mine_ , and every mistake you make tarnishes _me_  and my imagein the process.”

“Well, gee Lu Han, I’m sorry me having fun in my private life is such an inconvenience to you and your irrelevant fame,” Jongdae adds sardonically, rolling his eyes.

Lu Han scoffs, shaking his head cynically. “What’s the point of even keeping you around if you’re going to do the opposite of your job?”

It floods Jongdae’s body like ice water, sudden and jarring, and he laughs to himself incredulously at the pure _pain_ that bubbles up because of it, burning his skin through pure frost alone. What _is_ the point of keeping Jongdae around if he’s only doing the very opposite their entire arrangement is meant to do? Apparently nothing, to Lu Han, because to him that’s all this is. A fucking transaction, a means to an end.

“You’re right,” Jongdae says, laughing shortly, once. “What _is_ the point of keeping me around?” Like that he steps forward, glaring at Lu Han, and wonders why it hurts. Even through the burning anger the ice still _hurts_ , and he hates that he tied his own shoelaces together and tripped over them falling for Lu Han like this. Jongdae has been doomed since the start. He shoves Lu Han’s shoulder. “I am not a fucking _tool_ in your possession,” he hisses, as Lu Han steps back. “I am not something that’s _disposable_ once I’ve outlived my usage.” Another step back, as Jongdae crowds closer. “And I am _not_ fucking _yours_.”

Lu Han clenches his jaw at that, swallowing thickly enough in the silence it’s completely audible.

“Get out.” Jongdae mutters darkly. Lu Han swallows, stepping backwards, and does.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, every bitter thing in Jongdae’s chest deflates, and it feels like there’s a hole in his heart, with each little piece falling out. He dry sobs, once, but not before stumbling to the bed and curling up into fetal position, pulling at his hair. It hurts, it hurts _so_ much, and he hates that it does, because somewhere along the way Lu Han became _important_ to Jongdae and it’s that same fucking naivety that lead to all this pain.

Jongdae has always hated things like this, liking someone, letting them in despite every sign otherwise, because it always ends the exact same way; getting hurt. It seems ironic that the first time he maybe entertains the idea, it turns out Lu Han doesn’t even see him as a fucking _friend_.

Jongdae by nature, doesn’t cry, but he does dig his nails into the tops of his thighs, trying to make sense of the muddy-brown mixture of anger and bitterness and sadness, rejection, hurt, and _pain_ \--hating Lu Han for being himself, and hating himself for liking Lu Han.

Once he’s calmed down a little bit, emotions flatlining and less rapidfire haphazardness, Jongdae calmly picks up his phone, swiping away every notification but opening the _quarter life crisis_ group chat regardless.

 _You should have told me._ He types, @’ing Baekhyun. He’s not angry, but a little hurt. He’s thinking clear enough to know it’s not Baekhyun’s fault for not telling him about the photos, only his own.

 _Sorry_ , comes Baekhyun’s response. _I figured you’d see it yourself. Is it really that bad?_

 _Not to me_ , Jongdae types, then bites his lip, deliberating what to add next. _But to Lu Han, yeah…_

 _what happened?_ Comes Chanyeol’s message bubble as his profile picture lights up with a green dot. Jongdae huffs out a bitter laugh.

 _Is this a wine cream kinda night?_ Baekhyun asks. _Because y’all know im always down for that._

 _Please don’t even mention wine to me_ , Jongdae types, wincing at the thought. _And I ate so much McDonald’s today I don’t even want to talk about it._

 _we’ll have just have a wine cream night without wine or ice cream then_ , Baekhyun offers, and Jongdae smiles at his phone. He’s pretty goddamn lucky to have Baekhyun as a co worker and a best friend, even if he’ll never admit it.

 _I can be there in like 30 mins_ , Chanyeol adds.

 _u mind if i bring Soo?_ Baekhyun asks.

_Bathroom Guy?_

_yeah, Bathroom Guy. he's w/ me rn._

Jongdae shrugs at the thought, too self-destructive to care. _As long as he doesn’t care to see me miserable, why the fuck not_.

 _gimme an hour_ , Baekhyun types, sending a kissing emoji. Jongdae laughs as he clicks his phone shut, feeling better already. While waiting for Chanyeol, he showers away the grogginess still left over from his nap, and tries not to think about Lu Han and how much his stomach sinks as he stares at the tile wall. Ultimately, he gives up altogether, and turns the taps off.

Chanyeol knocks around the same time Jongdae is done with his skincare routine, letting him in as he tugs on a pyjama shirt and Chanyeol places the grocery bags on the table.

“No wine or ice cream,” he warns, then gives Jongdae a pointed look. “But I figured you might like to eat normal people food for once.”

Jongdae beams at him sheepishly, and Chanyeol rolls his eyes, easily reaching for the utensils without having to ask where they are. Vegetables are probably a good way of making Jongdae feel less like a disgusting being after today and last night combined; Chanyeol does always know what’s best for him.

Jongdae puts on background music while Chanyeol orders him to chop things, bickering like children as Chanyeol effectively distracts him. Baekhyun shows up twenty minutes later with a slightly startled Kyungsoo behind him, reintroducing himself all over again.

“Hey, it’s Bathroom Guy!” Chanyeol shouts, grinning over his shoulder as he stirs the pasta pot on the stove. “Nice to see you again.”

Kyungsoo winces as Baekhyun just giggles delightedly.

“Nice to see you too,” he mumbles, placing a bottle of orange juice on the counter. Ah, the perfect hangover remedy.

“So, what happened?” Baekhyun asks, taking up one of the stools as Kyungsoo awkwardly slides onto the one next to him, while Chanyeol dishes up.

“Well…” Jongdae starts, and wonders where to begin, how much to reveal. Whether he wants them to be or not, Baekhyun and Chanyeol _are_ his best friends, and he trusts them enough to not make fun of his feelings when he needs support the most. Kyungsoo is there too but, then again, Jongdae doesn’t know him well enough to really feel shame, and he’s too pissed at Lu Han to care about divulging their ~secret~, or whatever.

So Jongdae starts from Paris, when he’d kind of realised that maybe Lu Han wasn’t the worst human being alive, and there’s no smugness from Baekhyun or Chanyeol or a moment of _I told you so_ or anything, just quiet, rapt attention as Kyungsoo looks a little out of place but nods along anyway. Mentions realising that maybe those feelings of Lu Han not being the worst were a little more than platonic, and then mentioning the fallout after last night; Lu Han at his doorstep, the argument, and throwing him out. All in quick succession.

As soon as he’s done Baekhyun is frowning in thought, Chanyeol looks a little stunned, and Kyungsoo just says, “Wait, who’s Lu Han?” He blinks. “A celebrity?”

“Football player,” Jongdae offers, then frowns. “Ex.”

“Oh,” Kyungsoo replies lamely. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“My god,” Jongdae exclaims, turning to Baekhyun. “You have to keep him.” He sounds like his mother, _Jesus_.

“That’s the plan,” Baekhyun says, laughing nervously as Kyungsoo blinks like he doesn’t really understand what’s going on, while Chanyeol places bowls of food on the table, forks and all.

“Well, it sounds to me like you’ve got it bad,” he offers, which Jongdae gives him a flat look for, twirling spaghetti on his fork all the same because damn it Chanyeol makes some delicious goddamn spaghetti. “When was the last time you even like... _like-_ liked someone?”

Considering it featured Chanyeol in high school, Jongdae doesn’t answer that, choosing to eat instead.

“I can’t believe we’re twenty-six and you just said _like-like_ ,” Baekhyun adds incredulously, shaking his head. “He’s right though, you do have it bad.”

“Thanks guys,” Jongdae says, even though he’s smiling despite himself. “So reassuring. I totally know what to do with myself now.”

“It sounds to me like you should probably talk to him,” Kyungsoo offers, instead quietly, fingers curled around his glass of orange juice. “He probably only said what he did because he was angry. I’m sure he doesn’t see you the way he made it sound.”

“Soo’s right,” Baekhyun adds, humming. “I don’t think the guy can agree to go to Paris _and_ spend the whole time with you and not like you.” He shrugs. “If nothing else, at least as a friend.”

“Even if your relationship started out as… fake,” Kyungsoo says, after a moment of deliberation, like he still doesn’t believe that fake dating a celebrity by accident is an actual thing that happens to people --which, wording it out, Jongdae can’t blame him for. “It’s obviously progressed since then and it makes sense considering the amount of time you’ve spent together. You just need to reconcile and work out where to go from now. Both for the arrangement and your personal lives.”

“Talking about feelings??? Being mature????” Baekhyun asks. “Sounds fake.”

Kyungsoo laughs lightly. “Well, you’d be surprised,” he says, and Baekhyun looks at him with a twinkle of fondness in his eyes. After one goddamn day? Jongdae can’t believe they berated _him_ for having it bad. “If you’re as close as it sounds like you are, talking really is the only thing you can do. Clearly the fight bothers you, so it’s not something you should leave unresolved. A day or two to cool your heads is always a good plan, but Lu Han matters to you, and you should let him know that.” Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Jongdae are silent. “What?”

“Damn are you like, a therapist or something?” Chanyeol asks, pasta sauce smeared around his lips.

“No,” Kyungsoo answers. “I’m a pastry chef…”

Jongdae gasps.

“Now you _definitely_ have to keep him,” he and Chanyeol say, in unison, and Baekhyun just laughs.

  
  


 

After a night of distraction and good company, paired with a cured hangover the following morning, Jongdae is a little more prepared to deal with Lu Han and everything that encompasses the issue, dealing with his newfound resolve while at work. Falling in love --although Jongdae is far from that, he knows-- has always been a scary concept, but maybe it’s just a part of life he should come to inevitably accept. He and Lu Han don’t match in the slightest; Lu Han is egotistical, devious, competitive and self-isolating, whereas Jongdae is far less independent, snarky, and a little too naive for his own good.

But that doesn’t matter, Jongdae realises, because that’s not how human beings work. They’re not built into moulds and shapes that cut and fit against one another, rather, they’re ever-changing and and developing, morphing over time. The Jongdae of two months ago would scoff at the insinuation of wanting anything to do with Lu Han full stop, but the Jongdae of now has oddly come to terms with it, the longing and the strange, hollow hole in his chest. Whether he and Lu Han make up or not, Kyungsoo was right when he said it’s not something Jongdae can leave without a resolution, and even if he’s afraid of the pain that might accompany it, he knows the wounds will heal in time.

Which is how, for the first time in his life, Jongdae texts Lu Han.

 _We need to talk_.

 _Yeah…_ Lu Han agrees, almost two hours later as Jongdae frowns at his phone.

 _Can I come over?_ He asks, swallowing, and Lu Han agrees, sending his address considering Jongdae’s never gone there without a personal driver before. Huh.

It takes a bus and a forty-minute ride on the train before Jongdae makes it to Lu Han’s neighbourhood in North London, frowning while checking on google maps to find the right… mansion. The wrought iron gates are far more foreboding when Jongdae isn’t being driven through them, but Lu Han apparently buzzes him through, which is a good enough sign.

“Hi,” Minseok says, as he opens the front door as Jongdae pauses with his hand in mid-air, about to have knocked. Minseok isn’t wearing a suit like the last time they’d met, but instead in jeans and a beanie, with an adorable blue scarf wrapped around his neck. “I was just leaving.” He smiles at Jongdae reassuringly as he steps past him, as if tag teaming their turns in the ring. He hesitates, once. “You’ve done good, you know, with the whole--” Minseok waves his hands briefly, as Jongdae just looks at him, startled. “Lu Han never praised you for it, but you’ve done a good job. With everything.”

“Until now,” Jongdae mumbles, and Minseok gives him a sympathetic smile and a squeeze on the shoulder before walking towards the Fiat sitting in the driveway. A fucking Fiat. Adorable.

Lu Han’s house is as empty, eerily clean, and quiet as always, as Jongdae makes his way down the main hallway, surprised when Lu Han’s cat appears from nowhere, meowing at him.

“Hi sweetie,” Jongdae coos, bending down to take the cat into his arms as it purrs happily while he scratches behind its ears.

“I gave him a name, actually,” Lu Han starts, standing awkwardly at the end of the hallway in sweatpants, his token hoodie and neon green socks. “Chengzi.”

“Chengzi?” Jongdae repeats, hesitantly. “What’s that mean?”

“Orange,” Lu Han answers amusedly, and Jongdae gives him a flat stare.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” he says, groaning when Lu Han only grins mischievously, obviously impressed with his creative genius. “Ugh, I need to save this cat from your abusive ownership.”

“Shut up, he loves it,” Lu Han retorts, stepping forward to pat the overly affectionate cat, who rubs its face against his palm. “Don’t you, Chengzizi~”

The cat meows in response, and Jongdae and Lu Han laugh in unison before making eye contact that they automatically flit away from. Sighing, Jongdae puts the cat down, and says “Look--” at the same time Lu Han starts, “I--”

He cuts off, clenching his jaw. “You go.” He offers.

“No it’s fine,” Jongdae offers, shaking his head. “You go.”

Awkwardly, Lu Han rubs the back of his neck, pointedly staring at the wall rather than Jongdae.

“I’m sorry,” he says first. “What I said, I was… pissed off. The lawsuit has been going downhill and then this happened and I--” Lu Han frowns. “--I was out of line, taking out my frustration on you like that. I didn’t…” he trails off, running a hand through his hair. “--I didn’t mean it like that. You being a tool, or something, you’re not. A tool. You never have been.” He laughs sheepishly. “I’ve been told I’m possessive at the best of times.”

“I’m sorry too,” Jongdae says eventually, biting his cheek. “I should’ve been more careful, because we _did_ have an agreement. I think, after Paris, I just kind of…” he swallows. “... Forgot… that being careful was something I should’ve done.”

“Well, you won’t have to do it much longer,” Lu Han admits, shrugging. “The deal was finalised the day I last saw you. We sign off on it next week.”

Jongdae blinks, startled. “Wait but that-- that means--” that means that their time together has come to an end even faster than Jongdae had originally anticipated, his fingers curling into fists by his side.

“Yeah,” Lu Han agrees, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ll be free to do whatever after we do like, one more thing to make up for last time--” he pauses, noticing the inevitably downtrodden look on Jongdae’s face. “What?”

Jongdae inhales sharply, instinctively tensing.

“What if I don’t want to stop?” He asks, tentatively.

There’s a thick moment of silence, before Lu Han’s eyebrows furrow. “What are you saying?”

“What if I don’t want to stop,” Jongdae reiterates, stepping forward just a tiny, little bit. “Being your boyfriend, dating you, any of it. What if I don’t want it to end?”

Lu Han swallows at that, at a loss for what to say, but he doesn’t lean back even as Jongdae inches forward, tiny, tiny step, one after another.

“I don’t want to stop.” Jongdae breathes out, so impossibly close to Lu Han --but he hasn't moved away, so Jongdae kisses him.

Lu Han seems startled at first, mouth impassive, but it doesn’t take long before his lips are moving against Jongdae’s, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. Jongdae smiles a little bit, but not before wrapping a hand around the back of Lu Han’s neck, tugging at the short hairs there and pulling him down further, deeper into the kiss.

“Jongdae,” Lu Han pants out, as they pull back for air, foreheads pressed together while they stare into each other’s eyes relentlessly. “There aren’t any cameras around.”

“I know,” Jongdae replies, and kisses him again, as Lu Han curls his fingers through Jongdae’s belt loops and Jongdae pushes him against the wall, eagerly sucking on Lu Han’s tongue, who moans in response. Jongdae nips Lu Han’s bottom lip, once, who laughs in response, and then places small kisses along the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw, down his neck and pressing open mouthed kisses along the side of it.

Chengzi meows suddenly, cutting through the thick silence, and Jongdae breaks away, laughing breathily in unison with Lu Han as the cat winds itself around their ankles.

“This feels kind of wrong,” Jongdae admits amusedly, subtly wiping some saliva off his bottom lip as he stares down at the cat, who looks back up at him. “Maybe we should take this elsewhere if you--” he swallows. “If you want to?”

Lu Han’s beautiful like this, flushed pink with mussed hair and swollen lips, staring at Jongdae with slightly blown eyes like there’s nothing else he’d rather look at. It makes Jongdae feel powerful, flattered, and embarrassed all at once --but then again, Lu Han’s good at doing that; making Jongdae feel too many contrasting things at once.

Nodding dumbly, Lu Han says, “Bedroom,” and Jongdae follows him up the staircase wordlessly into Lu Han’s bedroom at the end of the hall, shutting the door behind them so Chengzi can’t follow --Jongdae’s into exhbitionism, but not like that.

He’s never been in Lu Han’s bedroom before, but it’s as sparse, clean and oddly minimalistic as the rest of the place, with simple black bed sheets and only a single piece of art on the wall above the headboard. Jongdae takes off his coat and bounces on the edge of his bed lamely, Lu Han frowning at him momentarily.

“What?” Jongdae asks, noting his discomfort.

“Nothing,” Lu Han mutters. “I just hate people on my--” he shakes his head, sighing and stepping forward. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”

“Good,” Jongdae says, grinning, and then Lu Han leans down to kiss him, straddling Jongdae’s thighs. It’s awkward with the height difference, Lu Han craning his neck at a bad angle, and Jongdae laughs at him before saying, “Here--” and flipping them over so that Lu Han is lying back on the bed and Jongdae nestles between his thighs, kissing him with enough force that Lu Han grunts against his mouth, hooking a leg over Jongdae’s waist.

“This okay?” He asks, as Jongdae nods, and then Lu Han rolls his hips, and Jongdae shudders, thrusting to meet back as Lu Han groans against his mouth, pressing kisses down Jongdae’s throat and nipping the edge of his adam apple, hard enough to leave a mark and Jongdae moaning.

He laughs incredulously. “God, you’re so--” he stops, shaking his head as Lu Han grins up at him, and then kisses him again, a little softer, a little less rushed while they lazily grind together like teenagers, a pleasant, warming buildup of friction.

“So what do you want to do?” Lu Han asks conversationally, as Jongdae sucks red marks onto his neck, but not hard enough to last. Jongdae kisses beneath his ear, too.

“I don’t know,” he replies, shrugging as well as he can manage with his arms braced on either side of Lu Han’s head, grinding between his thighs. “Any preferences? Any long standing fantasies you’ve undoubtedly had of me?”

“Shut up,” Lu Han says, but he’s blushing, so Jongdae kind of wonders how long Lu Han’s felt the same way. Assuming he does… well, it’s safe to say he definitely does, actually, by this stage. “Finger me.”

Jongdae snorts. “That’s it? That’s your request?”

Lu Han rolls his eyes. “You have nice hands, okay?”

“I have nice everything,” Jongdae corrects, and Lu Han pinches his ear. “Hey!”

“Learnt that one from your mum,” he says smugly, smirking.

“You wanna bring her up now? Really?” Jongdae asks. “While we’re about to have sex--” Lu Han pinches his ear again. “ _Stop it_.”

“Did I not just tell you to finger me?” Lu Han chastises. “Stop being a brat and hurry up.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes, sitting up. “So impatient.”

“It’s one of my many charms,” Lu Han grins unrepentantly, as Jongdae takes off his rosary ring and bracelets considering they’re not going to be fun fingering accessories, setting them by the bedside table while Lu Han props himself onto his elbows, humming.

“You’re wearing the bracelet I got you,” he notes.

“Have been ever since you gave it to me, thanks for noticing,” Jongdae replies slyly, as Lu Han rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, running a hand down his face. “I’m not exactly…” Lu Han screws his face up, as if not complimenting himself takes a toll on his body. Knowing Lu Han, it probably does. “... Observant.”

Jongdae snorts. “That’s for sure,” he agrees, as Lu Han scoffs indignantly. “Where’s your lube?”

“Second drawer,” Lu Han answers lazily, and Jongdae opens the drawer of the bedside table, arching an eyebrow when he notices to bottle is half-empty. “Shut _up_.” Lu Han hisses, while Jongdae just laughs, leaning forward to kiss him. Lu Han’s as perfect at kissing as he is at everything else, but for once, Jongdae doesn’t hate him for it. In fact, it kind of works out in Jongdae’s favour, all things considered.

“This okay?” Jongdae asks, as his hands dance around the hem of Lu Han’s hoodie, which he nods at, as Jongdae slowly pulls it off, taking his time running his hands along the planes of Lu Han’s flat chest, kissing at his clavicle.

“You too,” Lu Han breathes out sharply, and Jongdae obliges, leaning back to pull his sweater off and beginning the tedious process of unbuttoning the shirt beneath while Lu Han watches, cocking his head appreciatively.

“Enjoying the show?” Jongdae asks, leaning back down. Lu Han hums.

“Definitely,” he mumbles, and then kisses Jongdae, running his hands up and down his bare sides and leaving goosebumps in their wake. It’s a little cold being fucking January and all, but Jongdae doesn’t think that’s going to be a problem for too much longer as he tugs at the waistband of Lu Han’s tracksuit pants, frowning when Lu Han kicks them off, leaving him in knee-high socks and underwear alone. Tentatively, Jongdae goes to peel the left sock off and Lu Han doesn’t stop him, only twitching when Jongdae’s fingers dance along the top of his right knee.

“Do you happen to be extremely opposed to single-sock sex?” Lu Han asks, biting his lip. “Or can I keep it on.”

Jongdae shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says, pulling his hands back. “But you know, if this--” he swallows, thickly. “If this goes where I want it to,” Jongdae quietly mumbles, referring to _them_ and hoping Lu Han gets it. “You can’t hide that part of yourself forever.”

“I can try,” Lu Han responds, before sighing in resignation and leaning forward, fingers hesitating at the edge of his sock. “Just don’t--” he swallows. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

Jongdae stays silent, and Lu Han peels the sock off, revealing marred, pink-and-pale skin, a single long scar down the side with a slightly protruding metal rod beneath it, patches of hair growing only where the skin isn’t scarred with grazes and old wounds from when Lu Han’s bone had pierced through the skin. It really isn’t that bad at all, unsurprisingly, but Jongdae knows it’s not the slight derangement of the limb that affects Lu Han, so much as it is all the memories that come attached.

“It’s just a leg,” Jongdae says lamely, and kisses Lu Han softly, pushing him back onto the bed as his hand comes to cup Jongdae’s jaw. “Ready?”

Lu Han nods, and Jongdae pulls his underwear off, trailing one hand down Lu Han’s thigh while the other traces along the edge of his dick, grazing his fingertips over the head and giving it a few slow strokes.

“Stop teasing,” Lu Han hisses, as impatient as ever, and Jongdae just laughs while sitting back on his heels, Lu Han’s legs around Jongdae’s waist and ankles crossed behind his back. He rubs the lube between his fingers until it’s not fucking freezing, and gently leans forward, kissing Lu Han while circling around his rim, smiling when Lu Han exhales as he pushes one finger in, and, eventually, two.

“Fuck,” Lu Han breathes out, as Jongdae crooks his fingers forward and begins massaging spot, lightly at first, and then pressing harder, watching as Lu Han’s hands clench in the sheets as he moans, hips pushing down onto Jongdae’s fingers. “Knew you’d be good.”

Jongdae laughs disbelievingly, swapping hands. “I’m good at everything.”

“I dunno-- _ngh_ ,” Lu Han’s body tenses. “You’re an average kisser.”

“Now that’s just a blatant lie,” Jongdae scoffs, running his lubed palm up and down the length of Lu Han’s cock to watch him squirm. “How can this mouth be bad at kissing?”

“That’s what I thought, but you’ve always enjoyed proving me wrong--” Jongdae retracts both his hands, frowning, and Lu Han actually _whines_ at the loss, pouting at him.

“Do you insult every person you sleep with?” Jongdae asks, furrowing his brow.

“Only the pretty ones,” Lu Han teases, but the shit-eating grin is wiped off his face as Jongdae puts his hands back immediately, watching the way Lu Han sharply inhales while he arches off the bed, fucking himself on Jongdae’s fingers.

“Touch yourself,” Jongdae orders, as Lu Han shudders. “My fingers have better things to do.”

Lu Han obeys without a word, which is a little surprising, and he uses his right hand to rub up and down his own dick while Jongdae continues fingering him, palming himself behind his jeans for relief and enjoying the show. Lu Han’s so beautiful like this, flushed and whiney, melting beneath Jongdae’s fingertips as he pushes down onto Jongdae’s hand. Jongdae adds another finger for prosperity's sake, and Lu Han cries out a little bit, as Jongdae finally uses his other hand to take over from Lu Han touching himself, _feeling_ more than seeing Lu Han’s body tighten as his legs squeeze around Jongdae’s waist.

“I’m--” Lu Han warns, back arching a little. “I’m gonna--”

“Come, then,” Jongdae says darkly, and Lu Han does, Jongdae grimacing a little bit as he catches it all in the palm of his hand, dripping over Lu Han’s dick and the tops of his thighs.

“Fuck Jongdae,” Lu Han pants out, breathless, body limp as he collapses back on the bed and Jongdae reaches to the nightstand for a tissue, wiping down his hand. “Nice job, man.”

Jongdae snorts, cackling. “‘Nice job’,” he mocks. “Yeah good game bro, see you next season dude.”

Lu Han kicks him, causing Jongdae to laugh louder. “Shut up,” he grumbles, sitting up. “I’m trying to be positively reinforcing.”

“Well, you can do that without sounding like I just scored a goal.”

“I mean--” Lu Han smirks. “You did totally just score.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jongdae whines. “How are you this full of yourself?”

“Tell me it’s unfounded,” Lu Han says, grinning, and laughs when Jongdae pointedly doesn’t say anything, biting his cheek. God damn it. “But you’re right, there are other ways I can show my appreciation.”

Jongdae blinks as Lu Han pushes him to the end of the bed, sinking between Jongdae’s thighs onto his knees; Lu Han smirks up at him as Jongdae’s breath hitches, unbuttoning the top of his jeans and kissing down his navel.

“Holy shit,” Jongdae pants out, and ignores the shape of Lu Han’s knowing smirk.

 

 

 

 

Waking up to Lu Han feels a lot nicer when it’s not accompanied by sheer guilt like it had been in Paris, and Jongdae hums in contentment as he runs his fingers over Lu Han’s shoulder blades, down the ridges of his spine. There’s a tattoo on Lu Han’s left shoulder, of a Chinese character, and he traces it out, idly, trying to mirror the brushstroke-like appearance.

Lu Han grunts once, and Jongdae smiles at him, as he turns to blink at Jongdae blearily.

“What time is it?” He grumbles, face puffy with sleep and brown hair skewed in every direction.

“Seven,” Jongdae answers, and Lu Han groans all over again, like it’s far too early to be awake, while Jongdae laughs at him lightly, continuing to lightly run his nails between Lu Han’s shoulder blades, who’s clearly enjoying it.

“What does it say?” Jongdae asks, as Lu Han makes a noncommittal noise to show he’s listening. “Your tattoo.”

There’s a pause, and then Lu Han mumbles, “It says ‘home’.”

 _Home_. Jongdae traces out the shape of the character again, hoping he does the strokes in right order.

“What do you want to do today?” He asks, changing the topic, and Lu Han groans.

“Do you have to be such a morning person?” He complains, while Jongdae grins down at him. “I don’t know. Have more sex?”

“We can’t have sex for an entire day, Lu Han.”

“Not with that attitude,” Jongdae shoves him, causing Lu Han to groan. “Okay, okay, fine we can get up eventually just gimme like… ten more minutes.” Lu Han flips onto his back, and then tugs Jongdae against his chest, who laughs while Lu Han’s arm envelops over him, knowing he’ll be trapped here for a while. Thank god for Saturday mornings, at the very least.

Jongdae is lulled back into a light sleep before being woken up by Lu Han’s yawn an hour or so later, who sits up lazily with Jongdae’s head on his chest, running his fingers through Jongdae’s hair.

“Morning again,” Lu Han greets, and Jongdae smiles before leaning up for a kiss, while Lu Han pulls back. “At least brush your teeth first,” he warns, and Jongdae rolls his eyes before moving to the edge of the bed and standing, stretching his limbs, while bending over to rummage through his jeans for his phone. Lu Han watches him unabashedly.

“Like what you see?” Jongdae teases, kneeling by the bed as he switches to the camera app.

“Maybe,” Lu Han answers, watching Jongdae apathetically. “Taking photos to expose my secrets?”

“No,” Jongdae answers, voice dropping down a register. “These are for me.”

Lu Han shudders, but allows Jongdae to take a picture of him, sleepy and fucked out, and then a selfie where they both throw out a peace sign which, with some careful cropping, Jongdae sends to their brand new _horseman of the apocalypse_ group chat. It’s Baekhyun and Chanyeol again, but Kyungsoo is there too, now. Jongdae feels like he deserves to know of his success also.

 _NICE_ comes Baekhyun’s instantaneous response. _b_ _ut also rlly gross. is this what walking in on ur parents feels like?_

Jongdae giggles after leaving him on read, tugging on Lu Han’s arm to drag him out of bed.

“C’mon,” he says, as Lu Han groans. “Up you get.”

“But bed is warm and outside is cold,” Lu Han whines childishly, while Jongdae unrepentantly opens up his wardrobe and rummages through for some of Lu Han’s clothes to change into, hoping that what he’s picked is clean even if it hangs off of him, a few sizes too big. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Everything I do is hot,” Jongdae counters smugly, and Lu Han shorts.

“You call me full of myself,” he mumbles, but gets out of bed, pulling his neon green socks back on and tugging on workout clothes, his _LIVE FAST DIE YOUNG_ hoodie to top it all off.

Lu Han makes his stupidly good coffee while Jongdae sits at the kitchen counter with Chengzi in his arms, feeling a pleasant disconnect between his brain which is like _wow, you totally slept with Lu Han yesterday_ , _yikes,_ and the rest of him which is like, _damn right I did_. It probably hadn’t been the smartest of Jongdae’s decisions considering they didn’t talk about what it _meant_ , or whatever, but god damn it even if Jongdae gets rejected, at least he got laid in the process.

“I need to go for a walk before I do my stretches,” Lu Han starts, circling the rim of his coffee cup almost nervously. “Wanna join? I’d usually run but.” He gives Jongdae a pointed glance.

He’s smirking, but he’s also kind of right, so Jongdae doesn’t grace him with an answer, choosing to drink his coffee while Lu Han just laughs.

After grabbing his coat, a jumper from Lu Han, and tugging on his shoes, Lu Han grabs his keys off the counter and they head out, walking through the neighbourhood. It’s a little quiet, both the neighbourhood and the space between them, and Jongdae doesn’t know if he’s meant to break any of it or leave it be. Should he hold Lu Han’s hand? Crack a joke? Comment on the weather? Jongdae doesn’t know anymore, and the overthinking is going to hurt his head. It’s stupid, because it never _has_ been awkward like this between them, but now that they’re… whatever they are, it’s even harder than when they were pretending to be.

“So you do this everyday?” Jongdae asks eventually, just to prevent it from getting anymore awkward than it already feels like it is. Lu Han glances down at him lazily.

“Mhmm,” he hums, stretching his arms behind his back and causing his shoulders to pop. Jongdae winces. “Have to warm up before doing my exercises.” They lapse back into silence, and Jongdae bites his cheek, stumbling with what to say. It wasn’t awkward last night, and it wasn’t awkward this morning, either, but now, for some reason, it’s like Jongdae’s forgotten every word from the three languages he knows, as he stares at Lu Han’s unassuming pale fingers sticking out from the sleeve of his coat, and wonders what they’d feel like in his own, or if that would be too much too soon, even if they’ve done it plenty of times before.

Lu Han stops suddenly, and Jongdae stumbles when he realises, about to ask what’s wrong before Lu Han gestures for him to be quiet, pointing at the snow-covered grass beside the sidewalk. At first Jongdae doesn’t see anything, but then a tiny brown face pops out, and he nearly coos.

It’s just a single squirrel, but it’s so lethargic and _close_ , Jongdae doesn’t think he’s ever seen one so near before. Tentatively, he pulls out his phone, and starts taking photos, wishing he had a camera with him instead. The squirrel gets a little disgruntled amongst all the snow, and quickly darts back up the tree, disappearing behind branches.

“I thought they hibernated,” Jongdae admits, blinking upwards. Lu Han shoots him a funny look.

“They don’t, but it’s pretty rare to see one out,” Jongdae flips through the photos he’d taken idly, smiling, and wonders if he should send it to his mum. She’s always liked small, cute things. “You really love photography, don’t you?”

Jongdae frowns at the non sequitur, glancing up at Lu Han as he pockets his phone. “I mean, I _do_ do it for a living, so--” he pauses at the pensive look on Lu Han’s face. “--What?”

Lu Han shrugs. “I mean, you take photos for a living, but I wouldn’t call it _photography_ ,” Jongdae wants to argue, really, he does, but Lu Han isn’t exactly wrong. Even if it still takes the same amount of skills and finesse to pull off what Jongdae does, it’s the end product that doesn’t feel like _photography_. Like little memories and moments to cherish and keep to remember later, fragments of time immortalised. “Is that really how you want to use your talent?”

Talent. Jongdae blinks, suddenly embarrassed.

“Well I’ve--” he starts, frowning, and then double steps to catch up as Lu Han keeps walking. “I’ve actually... always wanted to be a photojournalist, not…” not the way he is now, a photographer working for journalists, but a _real_ photojournalist, the kind of impartial, emotional photos that end up in the Times magazine, and shit. Not glorified paparazzo business under a fake title for a tabloid newspaper. Photos that turn time frozen for eternity and tell stories, all within a single frame, memories. “... What about you?”

Lu Han blinks, startled. “What about me?”

“Did you always want to be a football star?” Jongdae clarifies, and wonders if he should feel more tact towards approaching the topic, but he and Lu Han have never been anything but honest with each other --maybe brutally so, in some instances-- so he doesn’t feel any hesitancy about broaching the subject.

“Once upon a time,” Lu Han answers, almost cruelly, lips twisted upwards. “And then the bad guys won.”

Jongdae frowns disapprovingly. “But you had your dream. You lived it.”

“Before it was taken from me, I guess,” Lu Han shrugs. “It’s nice to have dreams, Jongdae, but all lives ends with a pile of regrets no matter what. That’s just how my story finishes.” God, how edgy.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Jongdae prompts, and nudges closer, so Lu Han can see his frown. “Then clearly the story isn’t over yet.”

“I don’t know I-- I guess I used to be more ambitious about stuff like this,” Lu Han looks down at his calf. “And then this shit happened.” He scowls a little bit, and it scares Jongdae just how bitter he becomes, how acidic the miasma that springs around Lu Han turns.

“Do you really think that negatively about everything?” Jongdae prompts, his heart aching in his chest. “That you have to give up altogether just because you failed once?”

“No,” Lu Han answers, sighing, and runs a hand through his hair, screwing his face up. “I just--” he pauses, trying to find the words, and Jongdae walks beside him in silence, giving Lu Han all the time he needs. “--I don’t know. I barely even had a reason for leaving my house after retiring y’know, not until…” he stops.

“Not until what?” Jongdae prompts, slowly.

“Not until you,” Lu Han answers honestly, and Jongdae blinks, taken aback. “I mean, even if it was all just some media spin, at least it gave me something to do, y’know?” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I guess you were right, when you said I was wasting my time and money. It’s been bothering me, but I don’t know what to do with it.”

Leaning forward, Jongdae kisses Lu Han, surprising him, but there’s no hunger in it, no desperation or lust, it’s just a kiss; soft and reassuring.

“You can work it out, okay?” Jongdae says, as Lu Han relaxes beneath him. “The fact that you want to change-- that’s good enough for now, Lu Han.” After all, their forever starts _now_ , not the fake year ago it had to everyone else. If Lu Han wants to do something after losing it all, then Jongdae wants to help him, every step of the way.

“If you say so,” Lu Han mumbles, and Jongdae laughs against his mouth, as they kiss in the middle of the street, with all the time in the world to spare.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Lu Han,” Jongdae shouts. “We’re gonna be late!”

“Coming~” Lu Han calls back, and Jongdae rolls his eyes as he checks he has everything. Wallet, yes, keys, yes, boyfriend? Still on his way, apparently. God.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Jongdae asks Minseok, who’s sitting on the couch with Chengzi, lazily batting at the cat’s flicking tail. Minseok laughs.

“I’ve been babysitting Lu Han for six years, I’m sure I can handle his cat,” Jongdae snorts. “Who do you think keeps the house this clean? Lu Han?”

Fair enough point --Jongdae can’t believe he hadn’t realised it sooner.

“I’m here I’m here,” Lu Han says, a little flushed, running a hand through his hair. He’d dyed it an ash sort of colour at the start of the month, keeping the shaved undersides a natural black, and Jongdae would be lying if he said it didn’t look goddamn _good_. Lu Han had smirked victoriously the moment Jongdae had jumped him, but then Jongdae had tugged on his hair to prove a point, and Lu Han had moaned, and, well, Jongdae still isn’t really sure who ended up winning that one. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready for the past twenty minutes,” Jongdae scoffs, pinching Lu Han’s nipple as he yelps. “If we miss our train--”

“Have some confidence, Dae, we’re not _that_ late.” Jongdae huffs, but moves forward to say goodbye to Chengzi anyway, scratching under the cat’s chin as he meows up at Jongdae happily. They say goodbye to Minseok as they finally get to the taxi outside --a _normal_ taxi for once, not Lu Han’s obnoxious private driver--  and Lu Han sighs as he sinks into the seat beside Jongdae, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. Jongdae opens his lockscreen --a photo he'd taken of Lu Han in January, pouting at the camera-- shooting his mum a text to let her know they’re on their way to the train station now, and Lu Han yawns, flopping across the backseat to bury his head in Jongdae’s lap. Jongdae’s fingers card through Lu Han’s hair instinctively while he scrolls through his phone idly, laughing at the obnoxious snapchat Baekhyun sends of him and Kyungsoo, sending an equally as obnoxious one of him with Lu Han in his lap back as the taxi driver gives him odd looks through the rearview mirror.

“Chanyeol says congrats on winning the lawsuit, by the way,” Jongdae mentions, suddenly remembering. Lu Han huffs.

“Tell Chanyeol to fuck off,” Lu Han effortlessly replies, as Jongdae just cackles. To Lu Han, apparently winning four million pounds in liability from Kris Wu doesn’t count as a _win_ but a _settlement_. Jongdae still gets a headache when he thinks about that much money, but Lu Han and him have been planning what to do with it for the past month or so --with Minseok’s advice, of course.

Lu Han maintains the argument that Jongdae had been right when he said he’d been wasting his time and money, but there didn’t seem to be a charity Lu Han thought felt _right_ , for what he wanted to do. It’s surprisingly difficult to set up an entire non-profit organisation, and they’re barely even getting started, but it’s moving along, already pulling up a list of participating children's hospitals across the globe, and that’s all that matters for now.

There’s still a resignation letter sitting in Jongdae’s google drive, but he’s yet to send it to anyone, merely letting it ferment with possibilities. The added bonuses he gets from Lu Han hiring him up as their main photographer for graphic design purposes help, a lot, but it’s not quite _enough_ to keep his flat running, and Jongdae’s not sure if that’s exactly the path he wants to go down, either.

It’s certainly something to think about, the growing dissatisfaction Jongdae feels towards his own career, but it’s nice to not feel _too_ pressured by it --Lu Han, Jongdae has found, is an _excellent_ distractor.

The train under the channel always hurts Jongdae’s ears when they enter the tunnel, but at least Lu Han isn’t squeezing his hand in pure fear, so there’s always that. Jongdae purposefully speaks French to the attendants just to watch Lu Han and his stupid language kink squirm, and laughs at him pointedly when he pinches Jongdae's ear in retaliation.

His mother and Jongdeok are waiting for them at the station when they get off the platform, and Jongdae heads towards them with a smile on his face, quickly embracing his mum.

“It’s good to see you again, Luhannie,” she comments, as she also pulls Lu Han into a hug, which he’s clearly startled at. Jongdae’s mother had nearly thrown a fit when Jongdae told her Lu Han would probably end up spending Lunar New Year at home with his cat; she’d ordered he come with Jongdae to Paris for the week, and, well, Lu Han hadn’t really known how to say no.

It will be nice to be in the most romantic city in the world together anyway; at least, this time around, since it's far less faked. Jongdae still gets double-takes on the tube and they always manage to turn a few heads whenever they're out together, but it's certainly a lot less than it used to be while the lawsuit was still going on. Which is funny, Jongdae sometimes thinks, because it's also a lot more real this time around too.

“I’m surprised, you know,” Jongdeok starts conversationally in French, as Lu Han and Jongdae’s mum talk about the work he’s been doing setting up the charity a few steps ahead. “I really didn’t think you two would last so long.”

Jongdae scoffs in offense, slapping his brother’s arm, who only laughs in response. Maybe he and Lu Han aren’t perfect together, and maybe that’s okay. He doesn’t think Jongdeok needs to know that Jongdae never really expected them to last this long, either, even if it has only been a month and a bit, all things considered. 

After all, Jongdae used to _hate_ Lu Han.

“Good things come from unexpected places,” Jongdae says lamely, which Jongdeok groans at, as he winks, double stepping to catch up to Lu Han, and winding their arms together.

“Hi,” Lu Han says, smiling down at him.

“Hi,” Jongdae responds, grinning, and leans in just that little bit closer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u believe kim jongdae invented french that one time he said 'bonjour' on tv wow yeah neither can i
> 
> just about every location in here is a Real Place, even clos maggiore is an actual restaurant (and it's [so pretty oh my god](https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/03/5d/8f/cd/clos-maggiore.jpg))   
> the carol jongdae sings along to is [les anges dans nos campagnes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1HsQuCOouLM) the french version is better than the english but maybe i'm just biased
> 
> i know it's 2017 but listen: luchen,
> 
> (forgive me for this fic)


End file.
